#muke oneshot

Luke is in Michael’s room. 

Well—scratch that. Luke was always in Michael's room. In fact, Luke had just left Michael’s room, along with Ashton and Calum, exhausted and tipsy from drinks after an incredibly successful tour stop.

Then who the fuck is this? Reclined easily in a plush chair in the corner of the hotel room, Not-Luke looks exactly like Michael’s luke: same eyes, same face, same sharp jawline. Only, this luke has dark hair. This luke is dressed in a blazer and jeans. This Luke is looking at Michael with something akin to boredom in his eyes, lined with smudged red-blue eyeshadow and framed by unkempt curls. 

What the fuck, Michael thinks. 

“What the fuck,” Michael says. 

Not-Luke sighs, as though irritated, and a shiver runs down Michael’s spine. In the chill of the room, he’s frozen in place, the low hum of the aircon matching the racing heartbeat in his throat. 

“Shit,” Not-Luke mutters under his breath. Michael feels out of his depth. Something warm curls through his gut at the expletive—specifically the sound of the expletive on Not-Luke’s tongue. 

He swallows it down. Instead, he says: “Who the fuck are you?” 

Not-Luke moves slowly, as though in a dream. He touches the bridge of his nose, ignoring Michael’s question. 

“What year is it?” He asks. 

On autopilot, Michael responds. “It’s 2023. Who the fuck are you?”

“You’re on tour?” 

“Hey, man, I d—” 

“Take My Hand Tour, right? How old are you? 28?” 

“Alright, whoever the fuck you are, I’m calling security,’ Michael says, finally getting his feet to move, crossing the room to pick up the telephone receiver on the bedside table. “They’ll take care of this m—”

“You look good.” 

Michael freezes, hand suspended over the dialpad. What the fuck.

He turns to look at Not-Luke. His mouth is dry, pulse racing, palms growing uncomfortably sweaty. 

Not-Luke hasn’t moved from his place, but his eyes are glued on Michael. He looks like his Luke—like some sort of crazily accurate impersonation of him, down to the colour of his lips, the fall of his shoulders, the unrefined grace of his posture, like a doe trapped in a too-large body. He had the same electric blue eyes. Ones that mesmerised Michael. Ones that he couldn’t look at too long without facing the weight inside him he was too afraid to examine. 

This Luke isn't clumsy though. Everything about him seems intentional. The light from the dim yellow lamp on the table beside his chair casts a shadow that cuts across his features. Michael’s eyes catch the stubble on his jaw. His fingers itch to touch. And when Not-luke shifts, something clicks. 

What the fuck. 

“You—you’re Luke,” he manages, words barely above a whisper, loud like a gunshot in the quiet room. 

A slow smirk spreads across Luke-Not-Luke’s face. Encouraging. Mocking. Michael can almost hear him purring, the silk of his voice whispering ‘well done’ into Michael’s ear. His tongue goes dry at the thought. 

“I am,’’ Not-Luke replies. “Thought I’d dreamt this whole thing up, actually. Didn’t think I’d get to live it again.” 

He offers no further explanation. Michael puts the telephone receiver back in place. 

‘What–how? How?”

Not-Luke sits up, rolling his shoulders. Michael watches the muscles in his neck shift. 

Greedy. He feels greedy. 

“Dunno,” Not-Luke says. “Why don’t you call your Luke over ‘n we can all have a chat, eh?” 

Oh. Right. Of course. 

Michael refuses to dwell too much on how he said ‘your Luke’. Instead, he picks up the receiver and dials the number for Luke’s room. 

It rings. Once. Twice. 

A soft click as his Luke picks up the call. 

“Hello?” A drowsy reply. Luke had probably gone straight to bed after leaving Michael’s room. A fond warmth rises in Michael’s chest. 

“Luke? It’s Michael,” he speaks softly, somehow keeping the panic, the urgency out of his voice. “Can you come to my room?” 

“Right now?” comes the mournful reply. “I just got to bed.”

Michael’s eyes flit across the room to Not-Luke, who is still watching him, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. Along with something else. His legs are spread wide as he lounges on the chair. Michael briefly pictures himself on his knees in the space between those thighs. 

Not-Luke stares. All of a sudden, Michael feels like cornered prey. He pointedly looks away. 

“Please? It’s important.” 

A rustle of bedsheets on the other end as Luke sits up. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. Just get here.” 

Silence. Then, a soft sigh. “Okay,” says Luke, “give me a few minutes, I’ll be over.” 

Click.

“He’s coming?” 

The voice comes from much closer than he’d anticipated. Michael flinches, hard. When he turns around, Not-Luke is standing in the middle of the room, hands tucked into his pockets. 

Michael’s first thought is, he’s so wide. 

His second thought is, fuck, I want him. 

“How long has the tour been on?” Not-Luke asks, casually, as though making conversation. There's an underlying tone of something that Michael can’t quite place. Yet.

“Uh…a few months?” Michael scratches at the skin on the back of his neck. A nervous tic. Not-Luke notices. 

“Nervous?” 

Michael scoffs out an incredulous laugh. “Yeah, s’not every day an evil version of your band mate shows up in your hotel room.” 

A soft huff of laughter. Not-Luke takes a slow turn on his heel, observing the room. He takes measured steps as he begins walking around, trailing his fingertips over the desk, the pens, Michael's wallet sat upon the mantlepiece. For some reason, Michael can’t look away. 

“Don’t worry. I can play nice.”

Michael can feel the heat crawling up his cheeks. Why does this luke have such an effect on him? 

“Fuck off, mate.” Deflect, deflect, deflect. 

Not-Luke continues his exploration of the room, never making eye-contact. “Oh, I will. Soon. Jus’ got some business to take care of first.” 

Michael furrows his eyebrows. Business? What is he talking about? 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

The brunet pauses. Looks at Michael with a sly smirk. “You’ll figure it out.” 

“You’re being weird.” Michael says instead. 

“You don’t know me.”

“You’re Luke, aren't you? I know you like I know myself.” 

The smirk grows. “I bet you do, baby.” 

Oh. Something sultry and warm curls in Michel’s belly. Baby.

Michael opens his mouth to say something—anything—when the doorknob rattles and his Luke bursts in. His blond hair is dishevelled, and he’s wearing sweatpants and a shirt that Michael is pretty sure belongs to him. Luke’s eyes come first to Michael, then shift to the stranger in his room. Those gorgeous blue eyes widen in something like fear. Then confusion. 

“What the fuck,” he says, looking Not-Luke in the face, who seems extremely pleased by this reaction. 

“There we go,” he says. “Bit late to the party, aren't you?”

“What the fuck,” Luke replies. He darts towards Michael, grabbing his forearm and tugging. Luke’s touch feels reassuring. Michael looks at him, but Luke is still staring at his doppleganger. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m you,” Not-luke replies easily. 

“No, you’re not.” 

“Yeah, I am.” 

“What the f—” 

“Yeah, you’ve said that.” 

Michael can't help the huff of laughter that escapes him. He feels a bit dizzy, seeing two Lukes standing in his room. He’s pretty sure he’s had dreams about this situation. One luke behind him, one in front. One bouncing in his lap, the other on his tongue. Both of them, down on their knees, looking up at Michael as they—

“Mikey, snap out of it.” His luke is shaking his arm. Not-Luke is looking at Michael knowingly, like he can read his mind. For a moment, Michael is afraid he really can. 

His luke has a deep furrow between his eyebrows. Michael wants to smooth out the wrinkles there with his thumb, to tell Luke not to worry, that they’ll figure this out. Luke takes a step towards Not-Luke, Michael's arm growing cold as Luke's touch leaves him. 

“I’m calling security. I don’t know who the hell you are, but—” 

“Oh, shut up, Luke. We’re the same person. Use that pretty little head of yours. How do you think security would react to seeing two of us walk out of here when only one came in?” 

Luke narrows his eyes. “Don’t talk to me like that.” 

Not-Luke tilts his head, mocking. “C’mon, gorgeous, we both know you like it.” 

Michael can’t move. His head is spinning, but he's definitely into this, whatever it is. Luke’s back is to him, but Michael can see the tips of his ears turning red. From shame? Anger? 

“You don’t know anything about me.” He says, stepping closer still, standing taller. They’re almost face-to-face. Both of them are the same height, but Not-Luke has an air of arrogant confidence when he tilts his head up and looks down his nose at Luke. 

“Oh, I know everything about you,” comes the reply. “I know the lyrics you’re too scared to show anyone. I know those magazines you had hidden under your bed in your teens. I know that little folder you hide on your phone.” 

Not-luke leans in, voice low as he speaks into Luke’s ear. Luke, who is paralyzed with something, fingers curled into shaking, barely restrained fists. 

“I know the things you think about when you’re all alone,” His eyes flick to Michael. He gestures towards him with a tilt of his head. “About him.” 

The ground falls away from beneath Michael’s feet. All the air rushes out of his lungs, like his heart just dropped straight out of his ass. His face is so warm, he’s sure he’s bright red. 

Luke’s hands come up, and for a moment Michel worries about having to break up a fight, but Luke just shoves Not-Luke in the chest, hard. The brunet stumbles back, eyes sparkling sharply. His jaw flexes. 

“Don’t play dirty.” Not-Luke scowls. “Face up to your shit, asshole.” 

Luke is breathing heavily, a red flush bright on his pale cheeks. “I don’t need your advice. I don’t need words of wisdom from some washed up, rip-off version of me.” 

Not-Luke’s nostrils flare briefly. “Shut up,” he says through gritted teeth, and Michael’s worries circle back to breaking up a fistfight. 

“You think you’re better than me?” Luke mocks, taking a step towards Not-Luke. “We’re the same. What have you done differently? All my secrets are yours. Why don’t you own up to your shit?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Not-luke hisses. He steps closer and fists Luke’s shirt in his hand. The air in the room feels heavy. Michael can't breathe, but he can’t move either. His limbs are frozen in place, pulse racing as his mind tries to decide whether hes terrified or turned the fuck on. 

“Say it. Admit that something’s wrong. How you’re different. How much you're hiding. Admit all of it. Admit you’re—” 

“Shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you.” 

A soft whimper cuts through the commotion, slipped involuntarily from Michael’s lips. Both the Lukes are so close, their noses almost touching, cheeks flushed red with rage. They freeze, and turn to look at him. 

Yeah, Michael thinks. He’s terrified and turned on. 

Not-Luke is the first to break the silence. A slow smile spreads across his lips. His eyes travel slowly down Michael’s body, then back up. When he makes eye-contact, his eyes are dark, the colour swallowed by his blown pupils.

“Oh, you like this, don’t you, baby?” 

Michael goes weak in the knees. Luke looks between the two of them, until realization dawns on his face. His flush deepens. 

“Use your words, sweetheart,” Not-luke’s grin grows predatory. Luke struggles in his grip, but his doppleganger holds fast to his shirt. 

But Michael’s words are stuck in his throat. His thoughts race. Oh god, he’s definitely dreamt about this before. 

“I know everything about you too, Mikey,” the nickname rolls off his tongue like a threat. “Enjoying the view, aren’t you?” 

Michael gulps. Not-Luke looks back at his blond counterpart. He leans in just slightly, until his breath ghosts over the other’s lips. 

“Bet you’ve thought about this. How badly you’d want to sit in the corner while I bend blondie here over that desk.” 

This time it's Luke who responds. A soft exhale of air, fluttering eyelashes, inaudible anywhere else but cutting the tension in the room like a knife. Not-Luke raises his eyebrows. 

“Or maybe against the wall?” 

Luke’s eyes fall shut as he catches his breath. Not-Luke leans in to stage-whisper to him. “We’d make it so good for Michael, wouldn’t we, Lukey?” 

Michael thinks he might faint. Or die. He’s positive his brain isn’t getting enough oxygen, but the positively debauched image before him is taking over all his senses. The world narrows down to just the three of them. 

“You want that, Luke? ‘Wanna put on a show for Michael? C’mon, baby—’’

All of a sudden, Luke's eyes are wide open. The dreamy, cloudy look in them is long gone. He tears out of Not-Luke’s grip and steps back shakily. 

“Shut up,” He says, voice cracking. Michael can see a thin sheen of frustrated tears lining his lashes. 

“Sh-shut up,” he tells Not-Luke. He looks at Michael, eyes wide, pleading for something Michael isn’t sure he could give him. 

“I’m not—I’m not gay.”

His voice breaks as he says those words, and Michael’s lungs contract so fast that it sends a stab of pain through his abdomen. The words echo strangely through his bones. Something inside him feels like it's cracking open, exposing something fragile to the world. He feels like he handed something precious to Luke—something Luke never wanted to begin with. 

But Not-Luke seems unfazed. He sighs, frustrated. The blazer slides smoothly off his shoulders and he tosses it towards the bed. Michael watches, frozen, as he tugs on the collar of the shirt and undoes the top two buttons. He looks at his counterpart, silent and still, and runs a hand through his hair, tongues his cheek, then seems to decide something. 

“Okay,” he says. 

Luke blinks. “‘Okay?’”

“Okay. Feel free to walk out then.”

Michael turns to Not-Luke, taking in his posture, loose, but his shoulders tight as though he were trying hard to feign disinterest. 

“What?” Michael says, and he has to clear his throat because the words don’t come out right. “What–why?” 

“Wait,” Luke cuts in. The colour in his cheeks has begun to fade, but there's sweat at the base of his throat despite the cool of the room. Michael distractedly thinks that he wants to lick it, but the strange pangs of pain in his chest make it difficult to move. “Wait, I’m not leaving without Michael. I’m not leaving him with you.” 

Not-Luke exhales, and the tension seems to draw out of him. The suave confidence returns as he backs slowly towards the bed and takes a seat on the edge. He ignores his double, instead looking at Michael through his lashes. He licks his lips. Waiting. 

Michael’s jeans are beginning to feel uncomfortably tight, which is really confusing because his chest simultaneously feels cracked open. 

He looks between his Luke and the other one. Nobody in the room moves, but Michael knows all the attention is on him. It’s getting warm under his collar. He speaks, then, carefully. 

“If I stay…” He starts. “If I stay…what will we do?” 

He knows already what they’d do. Deep down, he’s known it the moment he saw this other luke. He was willing it, subconsciously. But Not-Luke continues looking at him, debating something within himself. In the back of his mind, Michael begins to beg. 

Please. Please. 

Not-luke turns his body squarely in Michael’s direction, spreading his legs in a way that makes it impossible not to follow the line of his body. Down, down, down, Michael’s eyes travel. 

His eyes snap back to Not-Luke’s, who flashes him a smile. It isn’t a kind one. 

“Whatever you want.” Not-Luke says. 

“Anything?” 

“Anything at all.” 

“Mikey…” a warning, from Luke, still standing frozen a few feet away. 

Michael looks between the two. Somewhere, somehow, this is probably really unethical. But Michael wants Luke so desperately. Michael’s wanted Luke for as long as he can remember— catching his eye across the classroom in school, stifling his moans with his hand down his pants back when they were broke and sharing a bed on tour, drowning out the laughter of all Luke’s girlfriends whom he pretended he didn’t resent. He used to dream of waking up next to Luke, of watching the sunlight catch the flecks of gold in his eyes as they fluttered open. He ached so deeply, for so long, stranded in so much darkness as Luke’s life grew and unfolded around them, while Michael struggled to play catch-up with his secrets. 

So when Michael catches his Luke’s eyes—eyes that are pleading, saying something Michael cant—won’t—decipher, he makes a decision. If he can’t have his own luke, he’d take this alternative. This mystical, sharp-edged, dark haired version that seems to know and see and want just as much as Michael does. 

It hurt too much to be real. It was all probably a dream, anyway. Michael could indulge. Just one last time. 

And Not-luke is looking at Michael with something akin to hunger in his eyes. And he sees Michael make his choice before Michael gets a chance to say anything. And his thighs spread wider, and he leans back on his hands. The look on his face is predatory when he pats his lap. 

Michael has crossed the room before he even knows he’s moving. He straddles Not-Luke’s thighs, hovering above him. Strong hands glide slowly up the back of Michael’s thighs, taking the time to savour the tension in his muscles. Michael can’t look away from those eyes. 

A sharp inhale, across the room. The moment is broken. Not-Luke looks over Michael’s shoulder towards his blond counterpart, and Michael's cheeks burn. He can’t find it in himself to turn around. 

“You’re free to leave,” Not-Luke says. 

But Luke stays. Michael’s senses are on fire. Luke stays, unmoving, breath ragged.  

“Fuck you,” comes the response. 

Michael’s ribs feel like they’ve cracked open and it's hard to breathe. How will he live this down? If Luke leaves the room, he knows their friendship will be damaged forever. He wants to get off Not-Luke’s lap, away from those wandering fingertips. He wants to get on the ground before his luke and grovel, beg for forgiveness, pretend none of this ever happened. He can’t lose Luke. He can’t, he can’t, he—

“I’m staying.” 

A low murmur, saturated in shame, barely audible, but enough for Michael’s heart to drop. What? 

What? 

A moment of stillness. Then, Not-Luke's chest rumbles in laughter. His breath fans Michael’s neck. Goosebumps erupt on his skin. Michael can't look at his luke. Not yet. Maybe never again. 

“I’m staying,” Luke says, louder this time, with more conviction. 

“I’m not gay,’’ He repeats. “I won't leave you alone with him.” 

Michael doesn’t know who he’s addressing. He almost doesn’t want to know. But Not-luke looks at him, something akin to reverence in his eyes, and whispers in his ear low enough for it to stay between them. 

“You want him to leave, baby?” There’s a genuine question there, like he'd kick Luke out if Michael asked. 

But Michael won’t ask. This…could be all he’d ever get from his Luke. He’d savour every moment. 

He shakes his head. 

Michael feels Not-Luke’s smirk against his ear. 

“Yeah?” he says, “‘Wanna show him what he’s missing?” 

Michael can’t reply. He tries to hide his face in Not-Luke’s neck, but a pale hand slides up, up, up from his waist, gliding along his neck, pressing lightly down on his jugular as Not-luke forces Michael to turn his head to the side, to where Luke stands, motionless, staring, flushed down to his neck. Michael wants to find out how far the flush goes, but—

“Look at him,” Not-Luke says to Michael. “Y’like that he’s watching?” 

Michael tries to avert his eyes, but Not-luke’s grip is too strong. Michael wants to close his eyes, but he cant—he’s afraid this will all disappear once he opens them again. Instead he avoids looking at Luke’s face, looking anywhere but at the blond standing speechless in his hotel room, eyes dark. 

Because is there a tent in his sweats or is Michael imagining it? 

Not-Luke licks up Michael's neck, and—yeah, he should’ve known every version of Luke would need all his attention. He kisses slowly along Michael’s jaw and stops at a spot underneath Michael's ear, nipping and sucking until a bruise blooms underneath his lips. When he bites softly on his earlobe, Michael moans something unintelligible. 

“Luke…” 

Not-Luke’s grin grazes the skin of Michael’s neck, sensitive and painted in purples and blues. Behind Michael, there’s a soft “shit,” followed by the sharp sound of a chair scraping across the floor. Luke has probably found a place to sit, and Michael’s pride glows.. 

But Not-Luke doesn’t like Michael’s momentary distraction. He runs his hands down the sides of Michael’s legs and slaps his left thigh softly. 

“Pay attention,” he warns. Fuck. It draws a soft whine from him.

Not-Luke’s hands brush soothingly up and down Michael’s sides. His touch is warm, possessive. Michael feels small under the weight of his hands. 

“Hurts a bit, doesn’t it?” Not-Luke says, low enough for just Michael to hear. Michael knows what he’s talking about. He won’t acknowledge it, not yet. But Not-luke takes his silence as a sign to go on. 

“I know you want him,” Not-luke mutters. “He wants you too. Have patience, baby. Let it come to him.” 

It stings. “For how long?” He asks, trying and failing to keep the tremor out of his voice. 

Not-luke doesn't reply. His hands travel lower down Michael’s back and he palms his ass. Michael gasps lowly, and Not-Luke looks Michael dead in the eye as he says, “Make sure he keeps his eyes on you.” 

The warning tone of his voice goes straight to Michael’s dick. He doesn’t have any time to reply before Not-Luke grabs the back of his neck and pulls him in, and then they’re kissing. 

It’s immediately rough. Not-Luke doesn’t wait for Michael to catch up, teeth clashing against his as Michael arches closer. Michael gasps into the kiss, and the brunet takes the opportunity to lick into his mouth. His hands are wandering, exploring, seeing what makes Michael tick—Michael, who can’t believe he’s got some-version-of-Luke’s tongue in his mouth. It feels like breathing after being underwater for hours. 

Michael sucks on Not-Luke’s tongue, coy, and it draws a deep groan out of the man. He kisses like an animal, Michael thinks, like a starved man–not stopping to breathe, holding Michael and taking what he wants from him.

A stifled curse across the room causes the two of them to break apart, and Michael watches the line of spit connecting his and Not-Luke’s lips glint in the light as he pulls away. 

“Like what you see?” Not-Luke asks his lookalike. Michael turns to see Luke sitting stick-straight in the chair that Not-Luke was in earlier. His jaw is clenched, fingers curled into fists pressing down on the armrests. He’s looking straight at Michael. There’s a visible bulge in his pants. He seems intent not to acknowledge it. Michael’s mouth waters. 

While Michael looks at Luke, a million X-rated thoughts shooting through his brain, Not-Luke focuses his grip around Michael’s waist. It’s bruisingly tight, and Michael looks back down at him. Not-Luke spreads his legs wider, knees knocking against the back of Michael’s legs, forcing him to spread his legs as well. It burns his thighs. His back straightens on reflex. Not-Luke smirks up at Michael. 

Oh, Michael thinks. He’s making sure I’m putting on a show. 

Michael doesn’t want to think about what it means. He leans in again, reclaiming Not-Luke’s lips, who meets him where he’s at. He sucks on Michael’s bottom lip, and Michael moans lowly at the feeling. It’s all teeth and tongue again, and Michael can tell they’re both hard from it. From the tension. From being watched. 

Luke’s hands tighten around his waist when Michael’s hands come up to tug on the hair at the base of his neck. He hisses softly into the kiss, pulling Michael impossibly closer. The next time Michael groans into the kiss, Not-Luke’s hips buck up. In response, Michael grinds down into him, feeling his arousal through the jeans as they roll their hips in tandem.

Michael feels like he’s on fire. He’s strikingly aware of his Luke, across the room, his eyes following Michael’s every move as he squirms upon his counterpart’s lap. The thrill of it shoots down his spine, the taste of Not-Luke’s lips intoxicating. He wants more. 

“Please,” the word slips from Michael’s mouth. He doesn’t stop pressing down against Not-Luke’s hardness, chasing his own high as the brunet’s lips find his neck once again. He sucks on the mark he’d left earlier, and the dull sting sends a shiver through his body. “Please, please…L-Luke—”

“Yeah?” Replies the man under him. “Feel good?” 

He can’t get an answer out, instead chasing his own high. He feels so good. For a moment, he worries he’s going to spoil his favourite pair of jeans, but he can’t bring himself to care. He continues to rock against the weight underneath him. 

Not-Luke’s hands tighten around him, stopping his ministrations. Michael lets out an involuntary whine. 

“Don’t get greedy, now, baby,” Not-Luke chides him, teasing. 

“Please, Luke—” 

“Please, what?” 

Michael’s head is reeling. He felt so good, just a moment ago, and now it’s slipping away. 

“Please…more. More, I want–I want—” His tongue feels heavy in his mouth. 

“Oh, you want?” Not-Luke laughs, mockingly. It sends a stab of hot shame through Michael’s gut. “Getting yourself off shamelessly in my lap like a whore…what about what I want, hm?”

Michael’s cheeks burn, warm and bright, and he looks down. Embarrassment shoots through his body. The patronizing lilt in Not-Luke’s voice makes Michael want to curl up and hide, but it also does something unspeakable for him.

“I’m-I’m sorry…” He says, because he feels he was expected to, and because he really is. He wants to feel good, but he wants to make Not-Luke feel good too. And across the room—he wants to make his luke feel good too. 

“Don’t be sorry, Mikey,” Not-luke grins, tapping his chin to make Michael look at him. “You need to learn to ask nicely. You want to be good, don’t you?” 

When Michael nods, Luke tsks. “Use your words.” 

“Please, Luke, you asshole—touch me.” 

Not-Luke laughs, satisfied. “Good job, baby. Well done.” 

But he makes no move to act on Michael’s wishes. In fact, he takes his hands off Michael’s body altogether. He leans back on his arms again, looking up at Michael, smiling. Along with his touch, the warmth leaves Michael’s skin too. For a moment, Michael worries he’s done something wrong. He huffs, frustrated.

A moment passes in silence. Then, 

“What do you think, blondie?” Not-Luke asks. Tilting his head, he looks over Michael’s flushed skin, then at the boy sitting still in the corner of the room. “Y’think I should give him what he wants?” 

Luke looks…frazzled. He barely registers that he’s been addressed. Clearly, he’d been struggling to keep his hands still, for they were now tensely latched onto the armrests. Michael admires his self control. 

Luke looks between Michael and Not-Luke, then gulps. 

“Wh-what?” 

Not-Luke rolls his eyes. He reaches for Michael, and Michael nearly sighs in relief, but he barely brushes his fingertips over the fabric of Michael’s trousers. It isn’t nearly enough.

“Michael,” calls the brunet. “I want you to ask him for permission.” 

There are twin sets of sharp inhales as Michael looks at Luke, whose cheeks seem to suddenly flood with a richer crimson colour. Michael searches Luke’s eyes for something—anything, any sign of discomfort, anything that indicates his disgust. But Luke's irises are swallowed by darkness, eyes wide as he takes in Michael’s every move. All three of them are hard as fuck, and Michael’s getting desperate. So he makes a decision. 

“Luke,” he starts, careful. “Luke, baby, won’t you let him touch me?” 

He hears the hitch in Luke’s breath from all the way over here. He leans forward, glides his palms up Not-Luke’s chest, never looking away from his Luke—so sweet, so beautiful, so desperately aching with want as he tries to stay still in his chair, avoiding eye contact because he's too flustered. 

“Look at me, gorgeous,” Michael coos, and Luke does, so obediently it makes Michael’s skin crawl. “Don't you want to see? His hands—your hands on me?” 

Luke gulps. Not gay, Michael thinks. Oh, I bet. 

Luke’s hands are shaking. Sparkling drops of sweat line his throat. 

Not-Luke seems to get impatient. He sighs pointedly, looking at Luke. Luke’s eyes flash towards him briefly, then he glances back at Michael. 

It’s almost unnoticeable. Michael wouldn’t have caught it if he weren’t watching every little movement Luke makes, but—there, slowly, hesitantly, a short nod. 

In a startling flurry of movement, Not-Luke flips them over so that Michael is lying on the bed, with both the brunet’s palms framing his head as he hovers over Michael. The air gets knocked out of him and Not-Luke begins trailing his index finger down Michael's neck, stopping at his collar. 

“Where should I touch?” he wonders aloud. He begins unbuttoning Michael’s shirt, methodically. Infuriatingly slow. Then the shirt is gone. The chill of the room catches up to him. He feels exposed under both Lukes’ rapt attention. 

The brunet places a hand over Michael’s neck, pressing lightly. Michael is sure he can feel his pulse racing, as Not-Luke asks, “Here?” 

His eyes glint, like he knows something Michael doesn't. He trails his hand down, leaving goosebumps on Michael’s skin in his wake. Once he reaches his chest, he tweaks one of Michael’s nipples. Michael’s back arches from the stimulation, moaning lowly. 

“Or here?” Not-Luke asks again. He pauses. When he doesn’t get a reply, he turns to face Luke. 

“Answer me,” he says. 

Michael looks at Luke as well. When their eyes meet, Michael notices Luke’s cock visibly twitch. Luke parts his lips, exhales, then speaks. 

“Lower.” 

A sinful grin erupts on Not-Luke’s face as his hand moves south. “Attaboy.” 

Michael’s hips jump in anticipation, and Not-luke tsks in response. He eases his index finger under the waistline of Michael’s jeans. “Eager, aren’t you?” he observes, licking his lips. 

He grinds his palm into the outline of Michael’s cock. Hard. Like punishment. A loud, broken moan rips from his lips. 

“Fuck,” Michael breathes. “Please. L-Luke…”

“Patience, sweetheart,” Luke says, and finally—finally—unbuttons Michael’s jeans. Michael rises on his elbows to help get them off, until he’s just in his boxers. There’s a growing wet patch on the front of them, and the outline of his dick is prominent. His skin grows warm with embarrassment. He’s the only one in the room undressed now. 

He’s planning on changing that. 

“Luke,” he says, and receives two “yeah?”s in response. He bites his lip to keep from laughing. He looks at Not-Luke, hands braced on the bedsheets between Michael’s knees. 

“You’re still dressed.” 

Not-Luke blinks. He shakes his head. With a light chuckle, “We’ll fix that problem later, Mikey.” 

He reached for Michael’s boxers and palms his erection. Michael’s head drops back as he groans. “M-more. Please. Pl—” 

“Take those off.” 

The voice startles both the men on the bed. They look towards Luke in the chair, who has a hand slapped to his lips, as though he can't believe he said those words.

Michael’s stunned expression shifts. He cracks a grin. Looking up at Not-luke, he says,“You heard the man.” 

Scoffing, Not-Luke curls his fingers into Michael’s waistband and helps get his boxers off. Michael’s length springs free, and he exhales as the cold hair hits his warm skin. He’s so turned on, he feels like he’ll explode. Across the room, a squeak, painfully obvious, barely masking Luke's arousal.

“Luke,” Michael says to the brunet alter. “Touch me before I do it myself.” 

Not-luke raises his eyebrows. Amused. “Didn’t know you were calling the shots here.” 

Michael narrows his eyes. He takes his left hand off the bed and reaches for his dick—

Not-Luke slaps his hand away. 

He taps Michael’s knees—a silent order for him to spread his legs. Feeling giddy and warm, Michael does. He expects Not-Luke to wrap a hand around his cock, but he forgoes it altogether. Michael whines, desperate for any kind of stimulation, and his knees fall closed instinctively. 

Luke lets out a soft gasp. Not-Luke forces Michael’s legs open. His hand, featherlight in touch, trails just past the base of Michael’s length, and when Michael feels the pressure of Luke's thumb against his perineum, he nearly blacks out from how badly he wants more.

“Such a pretty cock,” Not-Luke murmurs. Michael doesn’t think it's possible, but his blush deepens further. “If I had my way, I’d have you spread out on this bed for hours, jus’ to look at you.” 

“Touch it, then,” Michael says, and he means for it to come out as a demand, but it sounds like a plea instead. 

“Not just yet,” Not-luke replies. “Where’s your lube?” 

Michael’s lost. He feels on edge, skin damp and sticky with sweat. He barely manages to gesture towards the bedside table. Not-Luke’s touch disappears momentarily, but when he returns, Michael jolts as he feels a slick, cold finger prodding at his hole. He teases the rim for a moment, but chuckles when Michael whines in discontent. 

All three of them moan when Not-Luke sinks his finger in. He fingers Michael slowly, and Michael claws at the sheets desperately. “More,” he gasps.

“Gotta go slow, Mikey. Get you stretched out for me.”  

But Not-Luke obliges. He adds another finger, scissoring in and out of Michael as he gasps and writhes on the bed. He seems to be searching for something, but Michael can’t pay attention. Not-Luke’s fingers feel so big inside him, reaching so much farther than he himself can. Suddenly, Not-Luke crooks his finger a little, touching a spot deep inside, and a shot of pleasure rushes through him. Michael’s dick twitches, and he thinks maybe he’s died and gone to heaven. His jaw drops open and he moans loudly. 

“Luke.”

“There it is.” Not-Luke smiles. Michael can hear the satisfaction dripping from his lips. 

He screws his eyes shut. Good—its so good. He can hear Luke’s ragged breath from the chair he’s still in. He wants to hide his face in his shoulder, but he wants to look at Luke so badly. Wants to see the desire in Luke’s eyes. Wants to reach out, to touch those blond curls. 

He feels the warm weight of Not-Luke lean over him, his voice in Michael’s ear, his chains tickling Michael's skin. “Eyes open, baby. Gotta look at him. Make sure he’s watching.” 

But Not-Luke’s fingers inside him are relentless. Michael forces his eyes open through the haze of pleasure. He turns his head, meets the blond man’s eyes. 

Luke looks completely undone. Ruined altogether. As his brunet counterpart adds a third finger, continuing his assault on Michael’s prostate, the sounds spilling from Michael’s lips are downright sinful. He lets out low ah-ah-ahs as Not-Luke’s expert fingers stretch his walls open for him. The pleasure builds in the lower part of his belly. 

Luke watches, grip on the armrest so tense that Michael’s sure his hands will cramp over his guitar the next day. His eyes are fixed on where Not-luke’s fingers are working Michael open. The untouched tent in his sweats is no doubt painful, and Michael can make out a wet patch against the grey of the fabric where Luke is leaking. His mouth waters. He wants. 

Michael reaches for the blond.  “Luke—”

His words are cut off by a broken moan as Not-Luke twists his fingers. Michael sees stars. His back arches off the bed. Without warning, he comes all over his stomach. 

He lightly registers Luke's intake of breath, how he whines: “Michael.” 

Not-Luke fingers Michael through his post-orgasm haze, and when he pulls his fingers out, Michael feels strangely empty. When he meets the brunet’s eyes, something dark shines behind his lashes. Michael’s stomach drops. Not-Luke rises on his knees, rising above Michael, who feels frozen in place under the man’s piercing gaze. He looks down his nose at Michael as he begins unbuttoning his shirt. Michael’s eyes follow the path of his fingers, down, down, down, until the shirt falls open. 

“What,” says Not-Luke, his voice ice-cold and patronizing, “did I say about asking?” 

Michael gulps. The low timbre of Not-Luke’s voice, paired with the pinpricks of arousal—of fear—has Michael’s soft cock twitching in interest. Not-Luke crawls over him, careful with his hands, just barely touching Michael as he leans in. Michael closes his eyes, anticipating warm lips over his own, but the feeling never comes. When he opens his eyes, Not-Luke is there, smirking, so close, but not close enough. 

Eyes never leaving Michael’s, he calls across the room, “Luke.”  

The blond seems to snap out of a daze. “...hm?” 

“Come here.” 

Michael inhales so sharply he almost chokes. His eyes dart to Luke, still sitting still. He looks as though he can’t quite believe he heard right.

Tilting his head, he voices his confusion, “Wh-what?” 

Not-Luke ghosts his breath over the warm skin on Michael’s neck, then turns his head. “Come over here before I change my mind.” 

There’s a scraping of wood across the floor as Luke stands up from his seat, the chair nearly tipping over. Not-Luke slides off the mattress, standing up to meet his doppleganger. 

Standing there, hard as stone in his pants, Luke seems to get awkward. “Um—what, uh…where?” 

Not-Luke extends his hand, silently beckoning his lookalike over. Luke approaches with apprehension—eyes dragging over Michael still catching his breath—as he nears the bed. He raises his hand to put it in the brunet’s but seems to hesitate. 

Not-Luke doesn’t have the kind of patience Luke demands. He grasps Luke’s hand and tugs, spinning him around so his back hits the brunet’s chest with a dull thud. Michael’s breath gets trapped in his lungs as he looks up at both the Lukes, now eyeing him with twin looks of unadulterated, unfiltered desire. 

The brunet leans into the blond’s space, lips brushing his neck as he murmurs into his ear. 

“Look at him,” he breathes, eyes raking up Michael's chest. “He’s pretty, isn’t he?” 

Luke stares, blushing violently, curls drooping into his eyes from sweat. When he doesn’t answer in time, Not-luke roughly slides an arm around his waist. Michael watches his chest stutter with a sharp intake of breath as he seems to fall back into his alternate. 

“Go on, Lukey,” Not-Luke mocks. “Tell me how he looks. Tell me what you see.” 

Michael watches Luke lick his lips as his eyes trace the lines of cum along Michael's abs. “He’s pretty. He-he’s—” 

“Good,” says Not-luke, and he presses a kiss underneath Luke’s ear. Michael hears Luke whimper, revels in the sound. “But he’s been selfish today.” 

That gets Michael’s attention. He rises on his hands, ready to defend himself. “Wh-what—” 

Michael is cut off by a pointed glare. Not-Luke slides his arm low around luke’s waist. The blond’s breath is ragged as Not-Luke dips his fingers under the hem of the shirt and slides up, up, revealing Luke’s flushed pale skin. Michael nearly drools. He’s so turned on from the sight—his biggest wet dream, but instead there’s two of them, and somehow they both want him. 

Luke lets out a high-pitched whine and drops his head back on Not-Luke’s shoulder, who kisses his neck again, shushing gently. Michael watches his hand move under luke’s shirt and realizes he’s probably playing with his chest. 

Michael pictures Luke’s chest, nipples pinched raw, wet from his own mouth—and he wants to see. He wants to see so badly—so he rises from his place on the bed and reaches for Luke’s shirt but—

“Tsk,” sighs Not-Luke. “Those hands. So greedy, Michael.”

Michael stops in his tracks. He watches as Not-luke slides his hands back down and teasingly fiddles with the ties on Luke’s sweats. He watches Luke’s hips jump in response. 

“Please,” Luke says, voice cracking. 

Not-Luke chuckles, low, dangerous, threatening. 

“‘Not gay’, huh, baby?”

Luke ignores him, squeezes his eyes shut, and whines like a pornstar. “Please…please, I’ll—” 

“Tell you what, gorgeous,” Not-luke starts, his hands moving to Luke’s hips to stop him as he grinds unconsciously back against the brunet. “If you sit nice and pretty, and hold Mikey’s hands down for me while I fuck him, I’ll make sure to reward you soon, okay?” 

Luke’s eyes flit to Michael’s. Michael snaps out of the horny daze he’s in when he registers the words. “Wait, what?” 

Not-luke slides his fingertips down Luke’s arms and intertwines their fingers. He inhales deeply against the side of Luke’s neck, and when he looks at Michael, his eyes are hooded and dark. 

“Blondie here ‘s going to make sure you keep your hands to yourself, Mikey,” He says, tone patronizing, speaking slowly as though Michael had trouble understanding him. 

“No, but I want—” 

“I think I’ve had enough of what you want, actually.” 

He steps back from the blond, who breathes out like he’s finally remembered how to. Not-Luke guides him gently by the waist until he gets his bearings enough to find his place at the head of the bed. Michael stares, indignant. He almost wants to cross his arms and stick out his tongue like a child. Not-Luke walks back around to the foot of the bed, looming above Michael with his arms crossed. At some point in time, he must’ve rolled his sleeves up, and the sight of his tense forearms paired with the view of his chest through the unbuttoned shirt has Michael aching to reach out and touch. 

So he does. 

But Not-Luke grasps his wrist as he reaches out. He leans in, kissing the corner of Michael’s lips. 

“I don’t think I’ve been clear enough with you, baby.” 

He nips at Michael’s lower lip, and Michael exhales on a moan. 

“Or maybe you didn’t hear me right.” 

He pulls back, eyes dark. 

“But you’re going to keep your hands to yourself, or you won’t come for the rest of the night.” 

That does it. Michael gulps, because he wants to come—hell, he’s leaking already. He’s not sure he’d last the whole night. 

Not-Luke trails his hand down to Michael’s chest, and gently pushes him back so he’s laying on the bed. He crawls over him, mouth tracing wet kisses down the column of his throat. He takes Michael’s hands from beside him and guides them so they’re resting on the pillows above his head. 

“Keep them there,” He warns, and Michael huffs, but he heeds the command. He sits back on his knees, and nudges Michael’s legs open. 

Michael feels soft fingers touch his wrist. He meets Luke’s eye, sitting pretty and flushed and perfectly quiet beside Michael’s head. He opens his palm, lets Luke find his place, lets him intertwine their fingers together. A comforting warmth blooms in his chest. 

He’s distracted by a soft metallic clinking and looks over to see Not-Luke undoing the zipper on his trousers. The brunet knows he’s being watched by both sets of eyes, so he moves his fingers excruciatingly slow as his boxers come into view. Michael’s mouth floods with saliva and his dick twitches with desire when he finally sees the bulge Not-Luke is sporting. 

“L-Luke…” He starts, but the words get lost on his tongue when Not-Luke slides his boxers down far enough for his cock, hard and leaking with pre, to emerge. It’s big, flushed pink and heavy. Michael isn’t surprised to find that Luke’s dick is pretty like the rest of him. 

Michael unconsciously spreads his legs wide, and Not-luke finds his place between them. He slides his hands up Michael’s calves as he lines himself up with his hole. He strokes himself once, twice, teases the rim with his tip, and chuckles when Michael whines impatiently. 

“Y’gonna be good?” He grins. 

Michael opens his mouth to make a snide comment, but cuts himself off with a depraved moan when Not-Luke pushes in. 

Inch-by-inch, Michael feels like he’s being split open. His eyes roll back and he briefly registers his Luke’s moan and Not-Luke’s deep groan as the brunet finally bottoms out. 

So full, Michael thinks. So—big. 

“Oh, we’re just getting started,” Not-Luke responds, and Michael realizes he said that last part aloud. Not-Luke waits for Michael to adjust around him, but when Michael starts squirming, he pulls out a little, and slams back in. Michael’s back arches straight off the bed. He tries to wrap his arms around Not-Luke, pull him closer, but Luke’s sticking well to his orders, and he can’t move his hands. 

“F—fuhhh…L-Luke—I wanna—” he gasps, and Luke leans in, teasing. 

“Didn’t catch that. Say again?” 

“M-more—’’ 

Not-Luke pulls all the way out, leaving just the head inside, and Michael mewls. He pushes back in, and holds the pace at an infuriatingly slow glide. He grinds and rolls his hips into Michael, whose mouth drops open as he sighs and gasps, gaze completely unfocused. Not-Luke trails his thumb across Michael’s lower lip, then down until he has a hand around his neck—not pressing down, just holding. Anchoring. 

“Look at him, Lukey,” Not-luke tells his counterpart through gritted teeth, hissing as Michael clenches around him under the attention. “Doesn’t he look beautiful? All fucked out, drunk on my—on your cock?” 

Michael feels the grip around his fingers tighten. He moans. 

“S’deep, Luke,” He breathes. “ ‘Can feel you—hah…so deep inside.”

“I bet you’ve dreamt about this, Mikey,” Not-Luke says. He’s fucking Michael slow, yes, but not gentle. Each time their hips come together, it's with a force, a controlled slap sound filling the room. “Tell me what your dreams were like.” 

Silence. Just the wet heat, the weight of Not-Luke’s cock, the pleasure building and building. When Michael doesn't respond, Not-luke gives a particularly harsh thrust. 

“Ah–!” Michael knows what he’s asking for. So, he parts his lips, and lets everything out—he’s too fucked out to care. He feels too good to worry. 

“I used, hah, I used to dream of you…d-down on your knees—backstage, after every show. Your lips around my c-cock, your eyes t-teary…I used to dream of licking—mmh, Luke!---licking the sweat off your neck—an-and bending you over tables in bars wh-when you flirted with anyone that…fuck, with anyone that wasn’t me,” while he talks, he can hear soft whimpers falling from the blonde Luke’s lips. He goes on, “I wanted to tie you up to the bed—t-tease you for hours with just my tongue—ah!---I pictured your face…when you…when you c-come—whether you’d cry, if you’d be l-loud…ah, Luke, more—please!”

But Not-Luke doesn’t change his pace. He pulls out slowly, thrusts in slower. And now that Michael is talking, he doesn’t want to keep his mouth shut.

“I wanted—I wanted to kiss you so badly,” He breathes, and he isn’t sure if the tears in his eyes are from the pleasure or the grief. “When…when we sat in comfortable silence on tour buses. When you—when you looked at me under stage lights and…how beautiful you looked. I wanted you so badly for s-so long—” 

“Michael,” the blond whispered, desperate. “Michael. I didn’t understand. I-I didn’t understand. I thought something was…wrong with me. For wanting you—I couldn’t—I thought—” 

“Please–” Michael says, through the pleasure. Through the ache, the longing. “Please…kiss me? Please?” 

And the blond looks up at Not-Luke, who seems lost in thought, and snaps out of it then. He’s surprised to see his blond counterpart seek permission—from himself, no less. He nods. Of course he does. 

Luke rises from his seat and crawls over Michael. He cups the man's face as he leans in. When their lips touch, Michael feels like he can finally breathe. Like he’d been locked out of some universal secret, and he’s finally been let in to it. He feels like he’s floating, the skies at his fingertips. 

Luke kisses so sweetly. So unlike his alternate. He’s shy, not yet sure where to put his tongue, so Michael takes control. It starts out slow, saccharine, as Not-Luke continues grinding into him, and he moans into Luke’s mouth in response. Luke takes it as a sign to deepen the kiss—he licks into Michael’s mouth with fervor. It's warm, wet, and before long they’re panting into each other's mouths. When they part for breath, Not-Luke’s voice chimes in. 

“Michael,” He says, and the man in question looks at him to notice the mischievous glint in his eye. “Don’t you think you should thank Blondie?” 

Michael blinks at him questioningly, until the meaning dawns upon him. His eyes flit downward to Luke’s boner. Yeah, he thinks, I wanna thank him really badly.

“You’ve been so good for us, Lukey,” Not-Luke continues. “You did everything I asked you. Don’t you want your reward, gorgeous?” 

Luke blushes deeply. He nods, shy, hesitant, and Michael twists slightly so he can get his hands under Luke’s sweats without Not-Luke pulling out. He briefly thinks of himself as greedy. That’s probably right. 

It’s a bit awkward in the position he’s lying in, and he feels fuzzy because this new angle has Not-Luke pressing against something inside him that feels mindblowingly good. He struggles with untying the string of the pants for a moment, then with tugging them down Luke's thighs. He huffs at Luke’s abject refusal to help whatsoever, and turns back over to snap at the blond—

Oh. 

Not-Luke’s got a hand cupped around Luke’s jaw as they make out with each other. Michael’s stomach swoops. He can see the wetness upon their lips, the stubble along Not-Luke’s jaw, how it scratches Luke’s pale skin. He sees the spit they exchange between them, the flash of writhing tongues. How Luke moans and sighs into the kiss. How Not-Luke smirks as his blond alter begs wordlessly for more. The scrunch in Luke’s eyebrows as his want, his greed grows. 

When they part, they’re breathing heavily. Luke leans in to go again, but the brunet stops him with a soft tug on his hair. Luke whimpers in response. Michael makes a mental note of that reaction. He’ll be jerking off to this image for months. 

“Fuck, baby,” Not-Luke says, breathless still, laughing lightly. “Slow down.” 

The sound of his voice, the vision of the two of them together, its what finally does it for Michael. He whines, low, and nearly comes on the spot. 

He’s stopped by a hand around the base of his dick. He protests loudly, but Not-Luke clicks his tongue pointedly at him. 

“Be nice, Mikey,” he warns. “Get Lukey off first and behave if you want to come that badly.” 

And Michael does. He does want to come that badly, but more importantly he wants to get Luke off. He twists to meet Luke again, who rises on the bed to get his sweats off and shifts to kneel at an angle more comfortable for Michael. His cock bobs in Michael’s face, and he licks his lips at the sight. He looks up to meet Luke’s eye. The blond is biting his lip, abs tense as though restraining himself. 

“So pretty, Luke,” Michael tells him. He thrives in the soft gasp it draws from the man. “What a fuckin’ view.” 

Before Luke can respond, Michael wraps a hand around him, an licks a wet stripe along the underside of his cock. Luke drops his head back, eyes falling shut. Michael is just about to take Luke into his mouth when a harsh thrust from Not-Luke has his eyes widening. He looks back accusatorily. 

The man in question grins, “Oh, don’t mind me.’’ 

Michael tries to respond, but he’s cut off by a moan as Not-Luke pulls out and aims his next thrust directly on Michael’s prostate. It’s distracting.

“Mikey, sweetheart,” Not-Luke mocks, “Y’won’t come until blondie here does, so I’d suggest you put that pretty mouth to use.” 

Michael moans as the brunet punctuates that statement with a particularly cruel roll of his hips. 

He turns back to Luke and spreads the precome from the head all over his cock. He savours the little sounds Luke makes and he wants to tease him for hours just with little kitten licks, but since his climax is dependent on Luke’s, he gets down to business.  

Michael takes Luke into his mouth in one go. He bobs his head slowly, swirling his tongue along the veins on the underside. He wraps his hand around the base that won’t fit in his mouth. 

Not-Luke puts his hands around Michael’s waist and fucks into him—hard. He takes on a brutal pace. The bedframe shakes slightly, and Michael is pushed further down on Luke’s cock. It triggers his gag reflex, and tears spring from his eyes as Luke above him whines from his chest. 

“Michae—aaaah—”

He pulls off slowly to rub his tongue against Luke's tip, gasping as Not-Luke angles his thrusts so that Michael can barely breathe through how good he feels. He takes luke into his mouth again. His hips jerk as his cock hits the back of Michael’s throat, and michael groans. Luke responds to the vibrations as they shoot up his length and swears loudly. 

“Mm, shit—you take it so good, baby,” Not-Luke says, and Michael glows under the praise. He hums in response, and Luke, above him, fists his hands in his own hair. Michael pulls off him and reaches for those hands, guides them to Michael’s head. He blinks up at Luke through teary eyes as his brunet counterpart continues slamming into him below. 

“Luke, you ca—hngh!---you can fuck my mouth, if-if you want.” 

Luke inhales sharply. Michael tries to smile encouragingly at him, and licks at the bit of spit and precome on his lip. 

“It’s okay,” he says. He drops his mouth open for Luke. 

Luke moans softly. He cards through Michael’s hair gently, and Michael holds his gaze as Luke enters his mouth. 

At first, Luke is hesitant, clearly afraid to do something wrong. Michael sucks softly as he waits, taking Not-Luke’s cock, feeling the coil of pleasure grow tighter and tighter. All of a sudden, Luke grips his hair and thrusts deeper into Michael’s mouth. He takes it pliantly, moaning and swallowing around Luke’s cock, reveling in the sounds he makes. 

“Mikey…ah, ah—y-your mouth…you’re so—please—” 

Sloppily, Luke tugs Michael up and down on his dick, gasping even as his hips buck into Michael, as he savours the wet heat of Michael's throat. Michael exhales through his nose, tries to loosen his jaw, slides his tongue along Luke’s length—he wants it to be good for Luke. His lashes are wet with tears as he looks up at the blond. He lets Luke fuck his throat. Lets the drool and precome slide down his chin. And he feels ecstatic.

Luke’s hips stutter as he moves, his whines and moans growing louder. Abruptly, he pauses his thrusting, tries to pull out as he gasps, “Michael, I’m going to—where do you want me?” 

But Michael chases the movement of his hips, hollows his cheeks. He bobs his head a little, drawing a sweet hiss from Luke as he blinks up at him through hooded eyes. Luke comes with Michael’s name on his lips, chanting it like a prayer. Michael swallows it all, winces slightly at the bitter taste when Luke pulls out, and smirks up at him as the remainder of the blond’s cum spills from the corner of his mouth. 

Luke falls back on the bed, curling around a pillow as he smiles at Michael, a dreamy look on his face. What a dork, Michael thinks fondly. 

But then there’s a hand brushing over his cock, and the thrusts that had slowed down earlier as he sucked Luke’s cock are back, and Not-Luke is leaning over him to claim his mouth roughly. “Didn’t forget about me, did you, Mikey?” 

Michael gasps as Not-Luke finds his prostate again. The brunet takes that as his sign to continue plowing into him—the same spot, over and over, until there’s tears in Michael’s eyes. He keeps the angle, giving it to Michael like he’s starved for it, thriving in the sounds Michael makes as he gasps and sighs and moans and sobs Luke’s name. 

“Fuck, you were made for this, baby,” Luke gasps. 

The hot coil in Michael’s belly is growing tighter and tighter as Not-Luke keeps up the unforgiving pace, greedy and glad to have all Michael’s attention back to himself again. Not-Luke brushes the hair from his forehead and trails his hand down to teasingly glide over Michael’s cock, weeping with desperation. His movements grow sloppier, and he moans lowly in Michael’s ear. Michael feels the tenseness in his muscles, knows he’s close, and just for the sake of it, he nips at Luke’s ear, licks up his neck and whines like a whore. 

“Hhhh—got a mouth on you, don’cha?” Not-Luke chuckles. He clenches at the gravelly sound of his voice, and Not-Luke groans in response. “Shit, Michael—”

Michael feels the muscles in Not-Luke’s back tighten, and he quickly pulls out, both of them moaning as he does. He pumps himself once, then comes with a spurt over Michael’s stomach. 

“Fuck, you’re a vision, baby.” Not-Luke breathes. Michael laughs in response, skin sticky and wet with cum and sweat. He’s acutely aware of the fact that he hasn’t come yet. His dick is painfully hard against his abdomen. He can feel eyes on him, but he wants to come so desperately, and—

“Mikey,” Luke says, tentatively. “You haven’t come yet…” 

There’s something in his voice that Michael can’t quite decipher. Something like awe, like desire, like an unsaid question. Regardless, Michael can’t stop the movement of his hand as it wraps around his hard cock, hoping to jerk himself off, feel some relief, and soon. 

A hand around his own on his cock stops him from going through with it. He whines, impatient, bordering on sorrowful. Not-Luke guides Michael’s hand away from his length, and Michael watches the brunet as he licks his lips, looking beyond Michael, at the blond seated on the bed behind him. 

“Beg for it, Lukey,” He says, and it clicks in Michael’s mind. Luke wants—

“Michael,” Luke breathes into his ear, and it startles the man so badly, the blood rushes straight to his head. He flushes deeply as Not-Luke laughs at his reaction. But the blond continues. 

“Michael,” he says. “L-let me suck you off.” 

“Aw,” Not-Luke tuts, “You can do better than that, can’t you?” 

And Michael has half a mind to tell the brunet to fuck off because all he wants right now is to cum. He’s so painfully turned on, he can barely breathe. 

“Michael, please,” Luke purrs. “Please, let me s-suck your cock—please, I’ll be so good. I want you in my m—” 

“Yes!” Michael says, voice cracking, because he might be crying. “Yes—please, just—” Luke and his counterpart quickly switch places, manhandling Michael so that his back is against Not-Luke’s chest, the brunet’s breath warm on his shoulder as he nudges Michael’s legs open so Luke can get a hand around Michael’s cock. Michael nearly cums on the spot when Luke licks shyly at his tip. His head falls back on Not-Luke’s shoulder. 

“Y’know how to?” the brunet asks Luke, who gulps. 

He smiles shyly. “How hard could it be?” 

Not-Luck chuckles, and the sound goes straight to Michael's dick. 

“Oh, he’s got jokes,” says the brunet. Michael groans.

Luke takes a breath. 

“Its okay. Go slow,” Not-luke smiles. “We’ve got all night.” 

This is beginning to piss Michael off, and he voices it. 

But then Luke licks up the slide of his cock, and the complaint dies on his tongue. 

“Good,” says Not-Luke. “Take it easy, baby.” 

Michael lifts his head from the brunet’s shoulder just in time to see Luke take Michael’s head into his mouth. The wet heat hits him like a freight train. He thinks he might explode. Luke swirls his tongue, and licks at the ridge of his head. 

“Stop teasing—” Michael grits out. 

“Ignore him. Use your hand around what you can’t fit in your mouth, gorgeous.” 

There’s a determined look in Luke’s eyes as he takes Michael deeper, head bobbing gently. He makes eye contact with Michael, tears slipping from his eyes. Oh lord—Michael isn’t going to last for long. The obscene sounds of slick spit and soft gagging fill the room as Luke takes him. He’s so warm, so wet, so willing. 

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, and Luke hums. 

“Made for this—for sucking cock,” Not-Luke says. 

Michael can’t resist the jab: “What does that make you?”

In response, Not-Luke nips at his neck and pinches Michael’s nipples. He yelps. 

Luke’s tongue is magic. Michael feels like his soul is being sucked out of his body when Luke swallows around his cock. Luke pulls off him, stroking him as he dips lower to lick at Michael’s balls. 

“Fuck—Luke—” Michael gasps, and that’s all the warning Luke gets before Michael’s spurting hot ropes of cum across Luke’s hand and mouth. He whimpers at the feeling, at Luke as he strokes him through the aftershocks, at how Luke looks at him after, as he licks the cum off his fingers. 

“Y’did good, Mikey,” Not-Luke says, kissing down Michael’s neck and Luke wipes his hand on the bedsheets. “You look so good like this, covered in us.” 

Michael thinks he could blush from that, but he’s too spent and sleepy. He feels Not-Luke shift from behind him and falls back into the pillows. He vaguely hears the sound of a soft kiss, followed by a murmur and a melodic giggle. 

Not-Luke rises from the bed and pulls on his shirt while Luke crawls up to Michael and curls into his side, who wraps a noodly arm around him. The brunet simply looks at them for a moment, until Michael gets annoyed and blindly throws a pillow at him. 

“Get back in here, asshole,” Michael grunts, eyes falling shut already. 

Not-Luke laughs, a deep and genuine tune that reaches underneath Michael’s ribs and nestles somewhere warm. 

“Gotta get you both cleaned up,” he says, but he doesn’t move. He looks on, quietly, as his blond alternate smiles at him, reaches for his hand and tugs. He lets himself be pulled down, lands heavily on top of the two prone men. 

“Oof, you’re heavy,” grunts Luke. 

“I’m you,” comes the reply. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Michael snaps. “Go kiss about it or something. I’m trying to sleep.” 

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Mikey?” 

Michael furrows his brows, but he knows the pink of his cheeks would betray him. Not-Luke laughs heartily, almost exactly in tune with his doppleganger. 

“Ugh,” Michael says, opening one eye to squint accusingly at the two men. “Creepy.” 

“Y’love it,” Blondie smiles. 

“Alright, sleeping beauty,” Not-Luke says, gesturing towards the attached washroom in the room. “Let me get something to clean you up before you’re snoring into tomorrow.’’

“I do not snore,” Michael says. 

“Kiss before you go?” Luke pouts. 

The brunet complies. He lifts Luke’s chin with a finger, and Michael expects him to leave just a short peck on the blond’s lips, but instead it's something longer, sweeter. Something lingering, like he was savouring it, committing it to memory. When he pulls back, Luke’s eyes stay shut for a moment, and when his eyes reopen, there’s a silence shared between the two that Michael can’t quite place. A shared understanding. An unknowable secret. 

When Not-Luke turns to Michael, his eyes are glistening, shining with something unsaid. Michael doesn’t understand. Not-Luke kisses him like he’s breathing him in, holding Michael in his palms, like he’s trying to tell him something he can’t put into words. It’s just the two of them alone in a bubble, glowing with warmth. It’s a slow kiss. Michael doesn’t want it to end. But before he knows it, Not-Luke’s pulling away. Michael chases him, but he’s already out of reach. 

Both the men on the bed watch the brunet as he straightens up. He avoids looking at them as he buttons his belt. It strangely feels like he’s saying goodbye, like he’s leaving, even though he said he’d be right back. 

“Join us when you’re back?” Luke asks, an odd sobriety in his tone. 

Not-Luke smiles. He begins taking small steps towards the washroom, deliberately moving slowly, looking over them as though he’s painting a mental picture. 

“You guys look good together,” he tells them. “I’ll see you in a few.” 

Saying so, he turns on his heel and walks through the doorway, and his footsteps echo until he’s out of sight. Then, silence.  

Neither of them move, gaze fixed upon the washroom door. There’s a wait. An anticipation for him to come back, to make a flirty comment, a snide joke. 

Nothing. 

“He isn’t coming back,’’ Luke says finally. 

“I—” Michael feels a weird sense of loss. “I liked him.” 

Luke wraps his arm around Michael’s waist, stroking softly. The feeling is comforting. Michael wants to melt into Luke. Stay in bed with him forever, legs entangled with the sheets, bodies sparkling with sweat, basking in the afterglow. 

Michael looks away from the door when Luke lays his head on Michael’s chest. He’s sure the blond can hear Michael's racing heartbeat. He exhales through his mouth. 

“Where do we go from here?” he asks. 

Luke is quiet for a moment. 

“I don’t know,” he replies. “I want you, like this and in every other way.  I didn't understand for a long time. I still…I still don’t. ” 

Michael has an arm around Luke. The room is bathed in warmth. They’re sticky with the taste of each other. 

“We don’t…we don’t need to have all the answers right now, do we?” Michael whispers. He wishes for a moment that he had Not-Luke to rudely guide him through all this. But the thought fades quickly. He wants this for himself. He wants to do it himself. 

“We can talk about it tomorrow?” Luke asks, and he looks up at Michael. His eyelashes glow golden in the lamplight. Michael is briefly reminded of a dream he’d had, once.

He leans down and presses his lips to Luke’s forehead. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I promise.”

They settle into comforting silence. Michael’s breath evens out, Luke sighing contentedly as he draws little patterns into the skin of his hips. He’s drifting off to sleep when Luke speaks again. 

“Mikey?” 

“Hm?” 

“Can I ride you next time?”

michael and luke are smoking in the bathroom of some shoddy, beat down, old club. they’re both drunk off of cheap booze from pregaming before they came and a few rounds from the bar, so they smell like tobacco and liquor. between michael’s bright red hair and luke’s liberty spikes, they look like a couple of punks. how they’re dressed doesn’t help, either.

michael finishes off his cigarette and drops the butt of it on the concrete ground, then steps on it. an idea comes to mind and he looks over to luke with a grin.

“what?” luke asks, then takes one last drag from his own cigarette before doing the same.

“nothin’, man. you’re cute,” michael compliments him and he means it, but luke doesn’t think he’s serious.

“yeah, right,” luke scoffs, then michael reaches to pinch his cheek.

“i mean it. you got a pretty face, luke,” michael says, then cups his cheek and brushes a thumb across luke’s lower lip. it’s a little more intimate than what luke expects, but he doesn’t protest or push michael away… and, when he doesn’t, michael makes his move. he leans into luke’s space to kiss him, taste of alcohol and cigarette smoke lingering on their tongues and in their spit. luke also tastes sweet, like the flavored vodka he had before leaving.

luke returns the kiss, if only for a brief moment, then pulls back.

“here?” he asks, brow arched curiously.

“anywhere you want, but preferably here— yeah,” michael answers.

luke knows exactly what michael is up to. he wants to get laid. he doesn’t have a problem with it, nor does he think of it as anything beyond some surface level hookup. michael kisses him again and it’s more intense this time. hotter, heavier, and faster paced. by the time he pulls away, there’s spit coating both of their lips and a string of saliva connecting them. he wipes at his mouth with the back of his sleeve, then grabs luke by the hips and backs him into the nearest brick wall where he gets him turned around and bent over. luke already knows what to do. his hands rest flat against the red stone and his head hangs between his arms. he waits for michael to get his pants hiked down, then spreads his legs apart once they pool around his ankles.

michael uses his hands to spread luke’s cheeks apart, spit landing on his hole. it’s nice and slick from the build up of saliva. he massages the pads of two fingers over the tight rim, then presses forward and doesn’t stop until they’re sunk knuckles deep inside of luke. luke shudders and licks over his lips, mouth going dry as heat rushes to his face. it’s nothing, but casual. he tries to remember that so that he doesn’t get too embarrassed.

michael moves his fingers in and out, working luke open. he keeps going, until he finds luke’s prostate and curls his fingers into it. it’s enough to get a reaction out of luke. he curses, then bites back a moan. michael puts all of his focus on that sensitive bundle of nerves inside of him and massages over it. luke’s already hard. his cock bobs between his thighs and he’s tempted to reach down and get himself off, but he holds out. waits, until michael removes his fingers and replaces them with something bigger. something thicker that’ll leave him feeling full. fortunately, michael’s undoing his own fly right now. he pulls his cock free from the inside of his boxers and lets it smack against luke’s ass before he gets the two of them adjusted so that he’s properly lined up and can push past that first ring of muscles, then the second one. michael groans as he fills luke up slowly and luke responds with a string of curses. it burns at first and the stretch is painful. michael eventually bottoms out, then gives luke a moment to get accommodated.

“shit, you’re fucking tight,” michael mutters.

“i’m fine,” luke insists. “you don’t have to wait.”

michael doesn’t question it. he pulls out, until only the tip is left inside of him, then thrusts back in all at once. luke sucks in a gasp of air and, if the room wasn’t spinning before, it is now. everything feels hot and there’s this tension already building up in the pit of his stomach. it only gets worse when michael starts to fuck him. despite luke’s request, he still goes easy on him at first. he sets a rhythmic pace, waiting to gradually speed things up at a rate luke can handle.

“more,” luke says, like he’s not afraid to beg. “give it to me.”

michael has no problem meeting his demands. he thrusts harder and faster, using luke as he sees fit. his hands hold onto luke’s hips to keep him in place so that all he can do is stand there and take it, and luke nearly tiptoes off the ground in his platforms when michael brushes past his prostate. that’s when michael angles his hips just right to do it again. luke tries to hold back, but michael forces it out of him. he groans, long and drawn out, getting louder bit by bit. if it wasn’t for the music in the club, surely someone would have heard them by now. the sound of skin slapping against skin gets drowned out by whatever song is playing and michael pounds into luke with deep, shallow thrusts. luke is panting hard, own cock twitching between his thighs. precum leaks from the tip and he has to wrap his hand around himself and squeeze just tight enough to keep himself from cumming. he wants this to last.

“enjoying yourself?” michael asks and luke moans out an ‘oh, yeah.’ it’s loud and shameless. “you look like such a slut from back here.”

“shut the fuck up,” luke demands, but only because it gets to him. his face feels like it’s on fire, ears burning red and chest flushed a bright shade of pink beneath his clothes. he’s sweating. drops of it roll down the back of his thighs and michael brings a hand down hard against one of luke’s cheeks. his hips jolt forward and he sucks in a sharp breath. the sting lingers around the struck skin. michael does it again, then again and again. he spanks luke, until he has to switch sides, then continues. he only stops when he’s sure luke won’t be able to sit down properly for the next few days.

it’s a miracle that luke is holding it together. he should’ve cum already, but he’s holding back his own orgasm for the sake of having a little more fun.

“what’s the matter, slut?” michael asks, steadily fucking into him.

“fuck— harder, please,” luke requests and michael obliges. he drags luke back by his hips and rocks him back onto his cock while his own hips meet luke’s with harsh smacks. he’s ramming into him at a hurried pace, his own breathing picking up from how he’s overworking himself. meanwhile, luke’s a mess. he’s letting out one moan after another, high-pitched and needy. there are ‘yes’s’ and ‘oh, god’s’ mixed in with a bunch of other nonsensical ramblings. “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” he begs. a few strokes to his cock and he’s relieving the tightness in his lower abdomen. ropes of cum paint the wall and floor and his entire body trembles as he meets his release.

michael’s pleasantly surprised. he’s never seen this side of luke and he wants more. they’ll have to do this again sometime. for now, he focuses on finishing things up. he walks luke forward a bit and presses his face into the wall, holding his hand against the side of his head while the other holds luke’s wrists together behind his back. he continues fucking him, until his own orgasm rushes through him and he’s finishing inside.

they both take a moment to catch their breath and michael pulls out slowly, then spreads luke open like before. this time, it’s so he can watch his cum leak out of him and down the back of his thighs.

“fucking classless, man,” luke waves him off and michael laughs, then fixes his pants and grabs him a few paper towels to help him get cleaned up. luke is pulling his jeans back up when someone walks in. it’s obvious what the two were doing, so it’s a little awkward for everyone. well, everyone, except michael. luke’s quick to embarrassment. they apologize and say they’ll find another bathroom. michael laughs after they leave and luke gives him an annoyed shove.

“you owe me a drink,” luke says to michael

“hey, i’ll get you whatever you want if we can make this a regular thing.”

Michael couldn’t help but admire the undeniable joy that was radiating off of Luke as he was dragged along into room after room of their unfinished dream home. Each one seemed to excite Luke more than the last, though to Michael they all looked the same: wooden beams and plastic sheets.

Today was the day they had finally be granted permission to enter the constitution site, and to Michael’s disappointment (moreover Luke’s enjoyment), they had to wear construction hats while exploring the property. Michael felt ridiculous in his hard hat, jealous that Luke could still unsurprisingly pull it off. The two of them had been there for over an hour exploring every room in the house in excruciating detail, and as the rooms began to blur together, the only thing keeping him going was the constant smile on Luke’s face.

As the two of them entered the final room in the house, Luke let go of Michael’s hand and gestured to the open space.

“And this! You’re going to love this room, Mike. I was thinking we could put the bed here, and the ensuite will be right here,” Luke was giddy, running around the empty room, “and of course the balcony will be here!” He says, trotting over to a larger opening in one of the walls.

“You know… that all sounds great. But why are we putting a bed in my gaming room?” Michael asked, worried he may already know the answer.

He watched as Luke quickly spun around and stared at him in dismay.

Raising his eyebrows in anticipation, Michael waited for Luke’s reply.

“I uh- You said you didn’t care about the upstairs floor. I planned for this to be another guest bedroom.” He finally replied sheepishly, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

Michael cocked his head to the side and scoffed. He couldn’t believe that in a house with this many rooms, Luke had neglected to leave one aside for Michael to set up his computer and desk in.

“Seriously Luke? Another guest bedroom? Why do we need three guest bedrooms?” He folded his arms and stared at the curly haired boy.

“What if we have a party? Or if Calum and Ashton come over and need a place for their stuff? Or if-” He rambled off softly before turning around and heading back over to the gap in the wall. “You really want to waste this view on a gaming room?”

He watched as Luke leaned against a wooden beam, staring out into the distant skyline of the city and shook his head before joining him, accepting his defeat.

“So, how high up do you think we are?” Michael asks nonchalantly as he taps his toes against the exposed wooden beams of the unfinished balcony.

“Maybe like fifteen feet?” Luke replies, looking down at the ground.

“So if I were to fall, I’d probably break something?” He continues, adding pressure onto the wooden beam. “Dare me to walk on this? I bet it’ll hold me.”

“Michael! No! Don’t you dare. They said not to enter the unfinished areas. I don’t want to get kicked out of our own house.” Luke barked quietly, hoping to not attract any attention while grabbing onto Michael’s bicep.

“If you won’t dare me, I’ll dare myself.”

With his free arm, Michael took hold of the beam next to him and applied his full weight to the board below his foot.

“Michael.” Luke warned.

“Luke.” He teased back as he lifted his other foot and set it next to the one on the board.

Feeling more confident, his gaze slowly left his feet and he flashed his boyfriend a cocky smile over the shoulder.

“Are you insane? Get back here!” Luke warned, tightening his grip on Michael’s arm.

“I’m fine.” He then removed his hand from the beam and steadied himself before taking a step forward. “See?”

He chuckled to himself before slowly beginning to make his way back, figuring he’d scared Luke enough for the day. As his weight shifted a loud crack echoed from below his feet. His eyes widened as Luke’s grip tightened and yanked him backward to the secure floor. Michael’s heart raced and his chest felt tight as he buried his face into the crook of Luke’s neck whispering an array of feared curses against him, his hard hat falling to the floor, bouncing loudly. He felt like all the air had escaped the room as he hyperventilated against the taller man’s collarbone, gripping tightly to the fabric of his shirt.

“Whoa. Easy, easy. I’ve got you.” Luke whispered softly against the top of Michael’s head, rubbing his back. “You’re safe. It was just the wood settling. Nothing is broken, everything is okay, I’ve got you Michael.”

Luke’s soft words echoed again and again until Michael was able to breathe properly. His grip loosened and his arms wrapped around Luke, holding his boyfriend until he felt safe again.

After a few minutes he finally released his hold on Luke and stepped back, avoiding eye contact and embarrassed by his own stupid actions. Bending down, he reached for the hardhat and placed it back onto his head, no longer caring about how foolish he may look. He would rather be safe.

“Can we go now?” He asked quietly, beginning to walk out of the room.

Michael felt a hand grab onto his wrist pulling him back slightly. He turned around to see Luke’s face was a soft pale, as if the colour had been drained from it and was only just returning.

“Yeah we can go… but first promise me one thing?”

He nodded in agreement, waiting for Luke to continue.

“Please don’t scare me like that ever again.” His thumb rubbed softly against the pale skin of Michael’s wrist as his eyes met the older boy’s.

“So, this guy Michael…” 

Luke’s got the tip of his pen between his teeth while he looks across the campus courtyard at the man in question. Michael strums an acoustic under the shade of a tree, all aesthetic and cool and untouchable with the way the breeze catches his dyed hair. Luke’s been paired up with him for his anthropology project, which would be fine, except.

Ashton, sitting on the wooden picnic table across from Luke, looks up from his notes. Calum stops sipping obnoxiously at his disgustingly sweet iced coffee. They follow the line of Luke’s vision to Michael. 

“Oh, Michael,” Ashton says. “He’s a good lad.”

“Hm,” Calum says. “Gay.” 

Ashton thwacks him in the back of the head with a rolled-up assignment. Calum snickers into his drink.

“Yeah, anyway, so. Michael,” Luke squints at the man on the lawn suspiciously. “He’s definitely a vampire, right?” 

Calum and Ashton share a look. 

“A vampire,” Ashton repeats.  “Yeah.” 

“Right,” Ashton nods, like he completely gets it. Then, “And I’m the Queen of England.” 

“Listen,” Luke hisses. “He’s so fucking pale, mate. Have you ever met an Australian that’s whiter than white?” 

“You’re whiter than white,” Calum says. He’s gone back to sucking at his straw. The cup is empty. Luke’s going to throw something at him if that irritating slurping doesn’t stop soon. 

“Thats not the point.” 

“What is?” Calum continues. “Do you sleep with a night light too? Need a cup of milk before bed?” 

“I’m kicking you out of the friendgroup.” 

Calum shrugs. “Ashton agrees with me. Don’t you, Ash?”

“Luke,” Ashton starts, and he’s making a face like he’s constipated. “Vampires aren’t real.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“Yeah, well. Burden of proof.” 

“I’m gonna drop your textbook on your face while you sleep,” Luke tells him. He only half means it. Kind of. 

Thing is, Ashton’s right. And that sucks, because Ashton’s always right. He does need to prove it, because otherwise Calum and Ashton will be on his ass about that one time you thought a random classmate was an undead bloodsucking ghoul. 

He spares a glance at Michael again and watches him shrink away from the sunlight, plastering himself further against the tree trunk. 

“Look at him,” Luke insists. “He’s transparent. He’s literally white as a ghost—” “Oh, you believe in those too?” Calum snarks. Luke ignores him. “He’s a vampire. I’m telling you.” 

“And I’m a fairy! I’ve got a wand in my pants too. Wanna see?” 

Luke makes a face. “Keep your disgusting penis away from me.” 

“Not what your mom said last night,” Calum leans back on his hands. 

“Quickly, how much do you like your front teeth?” 

“Why, wanna lick ‘em?” 

“Calum,” Ashton pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t be a dick.” 

“I’m just saying!” Calum throws his hands up. The plastic cup goes flying from his grip and lands in the lap of some poor freshman, who looks up at the sky like this was her last straw. “If you want to make crazy claims, you gotta commit to it!” Calum continues. 

Luke folds his arms. “Fine. I’ll just—I’ll prove it.” 

“Prove…that Michael is a vampire?” Ashton tilts his head. He somewhat resembles a confused puppy. Luke would kick that puppy, in all honesty. 

“Yes,” Luke slams his laptop shut and stands up, staring into the distance with what he hopes is heroic determination in his eyes. “And then you’ll have to eat your words.” Ashton drops his head into his hands. Calum grins. “Alright,” he says, and there’s something malicious in his eyes. “Be my guest.” 

Luke flips him off, stepping over the bench of the table. He shoves his laptop into his bag and walks off without a word. He tries not to look back at Michael, because he knows his asshole friends are watching him go. 

“Ten bucks says he just wants to date the guy,” Calum stage-whispers, turning to Ashton. 

Ashton groans, exasperated. Then puts his hand in Calum’s outstretched one. “You’re on.” 

—

Admittedly, Luke doesn’t actually know a whole lot about Michael. Like, sure, they’re in the same class, but that's frankly the only course they share, and Luke didn’t even see him more than a few sightings around campus before this semester. And now they’ve got this project together. 

Luke’s in his 9 a.m. Anthropology class, zoned out despite being only fifteen minutes into the lecture. Who keeps a class this early on a Monday? The ugly white lights are too bright, and the sunlight streaks in awkwardly through the tangled blinds.  Most of the lecture hall is empty, and those who did show up are either hunched over recovering from hangovers, or dead asleep. 

Luke himself is somewhere in the middle ground. Laptop open before him, he scrolls up and down idly on a google search result for ‘Vampire Characteristics,’ not really registering anything he’s reading. And what the fuck does preternatural pallor even fucking mean, anyway? Just say ‘pale skin’. Jeez. 

The door slams open—loud enough for the entire class to jump, startled. 

A low hum of discontented murmuring spreads over the room. Luke looks over at the door for the source of the sound, and spots a hunched-over Michael Clifford, hands resting on his knees as he heaves for air. Like he’s just run across the campus.  

“S-sorry I’m late,” he gasps.

The professor crosses her arms and frowns disapprovingly, saying something to him that Luke couldn't be bothered paying attention to, because the sunlight catches Michael’s hair as he stands up, and the shade makes it look like it’s on fire. 

Michael stands in the doorway, looking bashful, rubbing the back of his neck until the professor is done chastising him. Then, he speaks. 

“So…can I come in?”

He’s shooed into the room, and he finds his seat somewhere closer to the front, and his head is kind of blocking Luke’s view of the board, but that’s not what gets to him. 

No, what gets to him are Michael’s words. Can I come in?

Vampires can’t enter a room themselves, right? They need to be invited in. Right?

Luke’s so ecstatic at finding his first bit of evidence, so determined to rub it in Calum and Ashton’s faces, that when he reaches for his phone to shoot a text on their groupchat, his grip stutters and the thing lands on the floor by his feet with a loud clatter. 

The class turns to look. Including Michael. Luke’s face flares at the attention, even as he murmurs a subdued “sorry…” 

But Luke’s gaze flits to Michael, who’s smiling to himself. Oh. 

—

Luke’s got a plan. As the class draws to a close, his knee bounces anxiously, because he needs to do this just right. No room for fucking up. 

Faintly, somewhere in the hallway outside, a tinny bell rings, and there’s a massive scuffle as everyone stuffs their shit into their carry bags and rushes to get out of the worst lecture on the planet. Luke waits until Michael stands, dusting off his jeans and slinging his leather haversack over his shoulder. Luke shoots up from his seat and rushes to follow, phone in his hand. 

See, Vampires don’t have reflections. So if Luke can just…see for himself that Michael doesn’t reflect on mirror surfaces, that’d be proof enough. But he can’t really shove a mirror in the guy’s face. That’s weird. 

So instead his phone front camera will have to do. 

“Michael!” Luke calls out. The man in question stops and turns, eyes falling on Luke. 

“Hey, man,” he replies. 

Luke waves his phone. “We’ve got that project together, right?” he says. “Wanna give me your number?” 

Michael’s lashes flutter. Not that Luke’s looking! Just that he’s got surprisingly pretty eyes and—anyway. 

“Um,” Michael says. “Yeah, sure.” 

Luke hands his phone over to Michael, front camera open. He rises on his tip-toes to look as Michael takes the thing, but Michael immediately turns the phone to the side when he notices the screen.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, shutting the app. His cheeks are dusted pink. Is that natural? Do vampires blush? “Your camera was on.” 

“Oh,” Luke says. Tries to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He didn’t even get to see. 

Michael brushes him off and types in his number. He hands the phone back to Luke. 

“I texted myself, so I’ve got your number now,” Michael tells him. 

“Cool,” Luke says, and it’s a little awkward. He fiddles with his phone. “I’ll…um—I’ll text you? We can meet up and work on it together?” 

Michael shoots him a friendly smile. “Sounds good,” he says. “See you around, Luke.” 

He turns and descends the stairway, never really looking back—which is good because Luke’s stuck in place, playing the way Michael had said his name on loop in his head. 

—

Luke texts Michael the address for his dorm. He figures he should test the theory a bit more. What’s the harm? 

Michael knocks at his door a bit hesitantly, just past six in the evening. He’s on time, which makes sense because the sun has started to dip, so he probably didn’t have to scramble for shade on the way over. Unlike with class that morning, when the sunlight had been bright and fresh. 

Luke opens the door, leaning all six-foot-three-inches of himself against the doorframe. He tries for casual, but his mother had always called him an elongated spindly deer, so. Do with that what you will. 

“Hi,” Luke says, smiling a little awkwardly. 

“You come here often?” Michael jokes, taking in the way Luke’s standing. 

“All the time,” Luke replies. “I practically live here.” 

Michael chuckles, shaking his head like he can’t believe Luke’s antics. It sends something warm swelling in Luke’s chest. A silence settles between them. Luke doesn’t move out of the way, because he can’t invite Michael in—Michael needs to ask. 

Michael shifts on his feet. “So, um…can I come in, or?” 

“Can you?” 

Michael blinks. “Can I?” 

“You can, but can you?” 

“What?” “What?” “Luke,” Michael stresses, and Luke’s breath hitches. “Can I please come in?” 

Luke blinks. God, it’s just—it’s the way he says Luke’s name. Something twists in Luke’s stomach, and he stands upright, making way for Michael to step in. As he does, he shoots Luke an odd look. 

Whatever, Luke thinks. I’ll get him next time. 

Michael heads to drop his bag on Luke’s desk, and all of a sudden Luke’s aware that he’s very alone, without having informed anyone else, in a room with a vampire.

Michael gets to work setting up his study material. Luke reaches for his phone and types a quick text in his groupchat with Calum and Ashton. 

Luke

i invited Michael over to study  

if i disappear you have permission to press charges 

Calum 

gay 

Ashton 

In your dorm? 

Luke 

yeah 

Calum 

why in your dorm 

Ashton 

Are you alone in your dorm with Michael right now

Calum

luke are u alone with michael 

luke

LUKE

—

The study session goes fine. Just fine. They end up going through the entire outline of their project and divide the work among themselves. Luke also learns that he has a lot in common with Michael. They both play guitar, and plan to get into music later on. They end up losing track of time talking about all their favourite bands. Conversation is comfortable, like they’ve been friends for years. 

And Michael doesn’t try to bite Luke once. A fact that Luke is completely okay with. And not disappointed at all. Not that he has any reason to be. Disappointed, that is. 

Calum and Ashton are extremely smug about all this information when Luke tells them about his study date with Michael—

“Study date, huh?” Calum smirks. Ashton snorts into his hand. 

“Yes,” Luke frowns. “Like—two people. Studying. On a date on the calendar. A study date.” 

“I’m gonna start a rumour,” Ashton says decisively. Luke kicks him in the shin. He bends over in pain immediately. 

“Fuck you guys,” Luke says, walking backwards and away because he’s going to be late for class. “You’re both useless. I’m selling Calum’s bass.” 

He doesn’t stay long enough to hear Calum’s squeaked ‘hey, what the hell!’ before he’s turning and jogging towards the Sociology Department Block. 

When he gets to class, Michael’s already there, settled into one of the rows further behind. He catches Luke’s eye and immediately lights up in a smile, so Luke takes that as an invitation to go over and sit beside him. 

Michael’s got one leg folded over the other, his laptop propped open in his lap and a travel mug of coffee set on the writing tablet desk. Condensation drips from it. 

Luke basically ran to class in the middle of summer, so he can’t really be blamed for what he says next. 

“Hey,” Luke pants, because he hates cardio so he’s still catching his breath from his sprint. “Mind if I have a sip of your drink?” 

Michael looks between Luke and his cup. He makes a face like he’s in pain. 

“Uh,” Michael says. “I don’t…think you’d like it much.” 

Luke gulps. The cup sits ominously on the desk between them. 

Oh. 

Oh.

He’s got blood in there, hasn’t he? 

Luke tries not to make a face. His hands itch to snatch the thing up and screw open the lid to confirm his conclusion. It sends a shiver down his spine—sitting next to a vampire that casually brings cupfulls of blood to class as a little snack. No matter how cute the vampire may be. 

Wait, what? 

“Sorry, mate,” Michael says, and he sounds genuinely apologetic, and Luke’s train of thought is derailed. 

“‘S alright,” Luke tells him on autopilot. And really, isn’t this a small kindness? Michael saved Luke from drinking blood. Or something like that. He even apologized. So doesn’t that make Michael a pretty cool vampire? 

Luke’s prepared to mull over his reasoning, but then the professor walks in, and he’s distracted when Michael’s knee nudges his own as he leans over to grab a notebook from his bag, and that’s that. 

—

Friday finds Luke, Calum, and Ashton occupying one of the many tables in the library hall. There’s a pretty tall pile of books stacked up beside Luke’s laptop, but he’s too busy squinting over the edge of his screen, through the space between Calum and Ashton’s heads, towards Michael. 

Michael’s seated two tables away, and Luke’s got a pretty clear view of the guy as he rolls up his sleeves—those tattoos, good lord—and throws his head back in silent laughter at something his friend says to him. Luke’s eyes zero in on his teeth.

More aptly, his fangs. His incisors are sharp. Sharper still than anything Luke’s ever seen before. That’s clear proof, right? And maybe they’re even longer, maybe they’re retracted into his gums, so when he feeds they drop down and—

“Hello? Earth to Luke Hemmings?” Ashton waves a hand in front of Luke’s face and he snaps out of his daydream  rumination of Michael’s vampire activities. 

Calum follows the direction of Luke’s gaze before he can snap his eyes away from Michael. When Calum spots the guy, his face spreads into the biggest shit-eating grin. 

“Like what you see?” he waggles his eyebrows at Luke. Luke goes to kick him under the table, but misses terribly. His toe slams against the leg of the table. He grunts in pain. The kids from the table adjacent to them shoot him a dirty look. 

“Sh-shut the fuck up,” Luke tells Calum. “I’m…observing.” 

“Yeah? Draw any bloodsucker conclusions yet?” Ashton arches a brow. 

“Or sucking of any other kind,” Calum pipes in. 

“Calum,” Luke shoots him a pointed look, because the table over seems suddenly super invested in their conversation. “I’m gathering evidence. Like, look at his teeth.” 

Both Calum and Ashton go to turn around, being extremely conspicuous about it, so Luke has to rush to hiss, “Not now!” 

Luke leans in, and as do the others, so now they’re gathered like they’re sharing some kind of secret. Which is technically true. The students on the table over have given up pretending they’re studying and are now straining to listen in. 

“His teeth,” Luke whispers. “Sharp. They’ve got points. They’re pointy, guys.” 

“Yeah,” Ashton nods. “Teeth tend to be that way.” “Not his teeth,” Luke shakes his head. “They’re fangs. They’re for drinking blood.” “Think about his teeth a lot, do you, Hemmings?” Calum smirks. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Calum only rolls his eyes. He nudges Ashton, who sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Luke, do you want to maybe think about why you’re—” 

“Mate, he was drinking blood.” 

Calum blinks. “What?” 

“I saw it,” Luke says. “I mean, I didn’t see it, but he had this tumbler full of something and when I asked for a sip he said I wouldn’t like what he was drinking. So, obviously, it was blood, right?” 

Ashton looks at Luke like Luke’s hit his head on something. “Why was your first thought blood and not, like, vodka or something?” 

“Who drinks vodka at a 10 a.m. class?” 

At that, Calum slides his water bottle off the table and into his bag. The liquid sloshes, and Luke now notices how it moves like it’s thicker than water. Oh, okay. 

Calum clears his throat. “Um, I wouldn’t know.” 

“Hey, can I have a sip?” Ashton nudges his shoulder. 

Luke shakes his head, trying to draw back to the very pressing issue at hand. “It doesn’t worry you guys that we’re classmates with a vampire?” 

“Why would it?” Calum says, passing his vodka-water-bottle to Ashton, who uncaps it and sniffs. “Considering vampires aren’t real.” 

“Calum, you’re my worst friend,” Luke tells him. 

“I love you, too.” 

“Okay, well,” Luke says, and he’s kind of jealous now that Ashton gets a sip and he doesn’t. “He also asked for permission before coming—” 

“Oh, he did?” 

“—coming into my room.” Luke glares at Calum, who looks far too smug for a guy that’s about to permanently lose a mate. “And he’s so pale. He’s so—” “Who’s pale?” The question comes directly into Luke’s ear, and Luke does not shriek like a teenager. His brain goes offline for a moment as he jumps, whipping around so fast that his neck cracks. 

Michael stands over him. He’s got his bag slung over his shoulder again. He looks past Luke and waves at Calum and Ashton. “Hey, guys. What are we talking about?” 

“Luke’s new set of kinks,” Calum offers, and this time when Luke kicks him under the table, he nails him right in the knee. He yelps in pain. 

Michael blinks. “Okay.” 

“He’s kidding,” Luke says, even as his cheeks flare a hot red. 

“Wait, don’t tell me,” Michael says. “You’re into feet.” 

Luke splutters. “I’m…no, wh—” 

Ashton’s laughing, open mouthed and loud, and they’re drawing the attention of the entire library now. Michael’s eyes light up. 

“Chill, Blondie,” he grins, and the hot embarrassment in his stomach melts into something fluttery and urgent as Luke watches Michael’s lips part in a smile. “I wanted to let you know I’m nearly done with my part of the project. I’ll send it over later tonight?” 

Luke can’t do much more than nod, biting his lip to keep from saying something stupid, like ‘hey, if you need any spare blood sometime—’ but then Michael’s tipping an imaginary hat in their direction, and slipping out of the library.

Ashton and Calum look overjoyed when Luke turns back to face them. Calum’s heaving giggles into his hand, and Luke hopes he chokes on his own laughter and dies. 

“So, feet, huh?” Ashton’s voice is high-pitched with mirth. 

“I’m gonna switch out your shampoo for hair-dye,” Luke says. See if he finds it funny then. 

“He’s gonna—he’s gonna text you tonight,” Calum sniggers.

“Shut up,” Luke says, and he slips further down in his seat and shoves his earphones into his ears. 

How the fuck did Michael sneak up on him like that? And did he hear any of their conversation? Oh, god. Vampires have superhuman hearing, don’t they? And…they’re really fast, and light on their feet. 

That must’ve been what happened. He must’ve used his powers to take Luke by surprise. Lower his defenses. Like hunting prey. Does he use these tactics when he’s out looking for someone to feed on? He’s got long limbs—like, just look at those legs. It must be so easy. 

And if—if the warmth of his voice, the whisper of his breath as he spoke dangerously close to Luke’s ear—if any of that lingers for longer than it should then…that’s just what vampires do, right? They have an allure. A dangerous pull. 

Luke can’t be blamed for being drawn in. 

—

It’s 3:08 a.m. when Luke gets Michael’s text. He’s distinctly aware that it’s the Witching Hour.

Michael 

hey i finished my work 

Luke 

why are you awake??

Michael 

why are you awake 

Luke 

i asked first 

Michael 

i’m jerking off 

Luke flushes violently at that one. He knows Michael’s joking but still. A vague image flashes through his head and he has to blink hard to get it out. Michael’s just so—vulgar. Luke tugs his blanket up to his chin, cheeks burning. 

Luke 

oh okay

Michael 

kidding 

u get riled up so easily 

its cute

Luke 

i’m adorable 

Michael 

hm 

will email u my work tmr morn 

gonna head out to blood bank rn 

Blood bank? 

What the fuck.

‘Blood bank’ as in the place where bags of blood are stored? Does this count as Michael coming out to Luke? Wait, is it still called ‘coming out’ if you’re revealing yourself to be a vampire? 

Luke 

you aren’t going to sleep?? 

also, blood bank? what are you, a vampire? 

Michael 

tryna ask if i bite? 

wouldn’t u like to know ;) 

Luke 

Michael. 

Michael 

ok jeez 

it’s an overnight cafe 

Oh. Okay, that makes sense. 

And then Luke has a strong urge to facepalm, because why would a vampire go to a bloodbank? It's not like you can walk into a dispensary and say, ‘hey, can I get a bag of blood?’

Luke’s eyes are falling shut already. He’s dozing off over his phone screen. Enough studying for today, he thinks. He shuts his laptop and slips further into his sheets. His vision kind of goes blurry around the edges, and his eyes are burning so bad that even though he fights to stay awake, his phone ultimately slips out of his grip. 

He doesn’t stay awake long enough to see Michael’s next text come through. 

Michael 

come with me sometime? 

By the time Luke wakes up the next morning and checks his phone, the message is gone. 

Michael 

[This message was deleted by the sender.]

—

Luke has had a revelation. An epiphany, even. A pioneering idea.

He digs through his closet for his lowest cut shirt. He’s talking like white V-neck, dipping down to the middle of his chest, falling over his shoulders like he’s trying to bring attention to his neck—which he is. Luke has pretty wide shoulders, so the shirt only serves to highlight his width. As he stands in the mirror, he takes note of how the fabric stretches over his chest, draws the eye up from his chest, up along his collarbones, up, up, up the line of his neck. 

It’s perfect. 

“Woah,” Calum says, as Luke meets them in the main block foyer that morning. “No bra today?” 

Luke frowns. Ashton tilts his head. 

“Why are you dressed like a slut?” he asks. 

Luke looks down at his shirt. Frankly, he didn’t really think of how he would look to anyone else. He wore it for Michael. 

Wait, like. Not for Michael, but more like…bait. To get Michael to look at Luke’s neck. If he can catch the man leering over Luke basically inviting him to bite, that’s as good as evidence could possibly ever get. Luke’s a genius.  

When he explains all this to Ashton and Calum, they share a pointed look. 

“You’re a whore,” Calum tells him seriously. 

“I’m a strategic mastermind,” Luke corrects. 

“I can basically see your nipples through the shirt, mate,” Ashton says. 

Luke strikes a shitty pose. “Do they look good?” 

Ashton makes a gagging sound, and Luke will decidedly take that as a compliment, thank you very much. 

Then he catches a flash of dyed hair somewhere behind Ashton, and looks to see Michael crossing the foyer, in conversation with a friend. Without thinking, Luke calls out to him. Ashton and Calum turn to look just as Michael locks eyes with Luke. 

“Michael!” Luke smiles at him, straightening his back. 

Michael raises his hand to wave, eyes flitting between him, Ashton and Calum. 

Luke watches with nothing short of glee as he then freezes in place, gaze travelling down the length of Luke’s frame, then up, snagging at the dip of his shirt. Even from a few metres away, Luke can see his eyes widen as they go straight to Luke’s chest, across his shoulders, then painfully slow up the line of his neck. 

He gulps audibly, cheeks flaring an almost concerning shade of red. Luke’s grin grows. Gotcha. 

“Um, I—” Michael squeaks, face beet red. He meets Luke’s delighted expression, then immediately struggles to make eye-contact whatsoever, eyes flitting everywhere but towards Luke. “I—uh! I have to…be somewhere! Nice t-to see you guys. Bye!” 

He curls into himself, looking straight down at his shoes as he briskly walks out of the foyer, leaving his friend behind to splutter confusedly as he looks between Luke’s friendgroup and Michael’s retreating back. 

Luke looks pointedly at Ashton and Calum as they snicker into their hands. “See?” 

Ashton sighs, bemused. “You’re so fuckin’ stupid.” 

Luke blinks. “I think you mean intellectually gifted.” 

“No,” Calum shakes his head, still chuckling. “You’re the biggest idiot I’ve ever met.” 

“Weren’t you guys looking?” Luke pouts. “He basically just went full vampire in the middle of the hall.” 

“And you’re sure there’s no other reason why he’d turn red at the sight of you today?” Ashton prompts, raising an eyebrow in indication of Luke’s attire. 

Luke adjusts the hem of his shirt. “Well, yeah,” he says. “Why else would he?”

Calum rubs the hells of his palms in his eyes, groaning. “Luke.” 

“What?” 

Ashton slaps his palm to Calum’s shoulder, pressing his thumbs into the muscle there to massage the tension out. He begins guiding Calum away towards the stairwell to their morning class, leaving Luke standing there, confused and mildly annoyed. 

“Just,” Ashton starts, tone sympathetic. Or condescending. Luke can’t really tell. “Just think about why he reacted that way for a bit, okay?” 

That’s stupid, Luke thinks. I know why he reacted that way. It’s because he’s a vampire. 

No other reason. Obviously. 

Right?

—

Luke thinks that the problem really just lies in how he hasn’t properly presented his evidence to Calum and Ashton. Also that they just don’t seem to believe him, so he needs tangible proof. Something that he can point out to Calum and Ashton, something so undoubtable, so obviously evidence of vampiric ghoulishness that it has absolutely no plausible deniability. 

Like sunburns. 

Sure, Luke feels bad for plotting something that will see Michael in pain. But then he thinks about all those poor souls that Michael’s probably fed on, and tries not to think about how nice Michael is and how much Luke actually likes him—and then it’s a whole flurry of emotions that Luke can’t quite contextualize.

In retrospect, tangible proof could also just be something like Luke offering himself up for Michael to bite. To sink his teeth into his flesh. To drink from him, fully and sweetly. To mark Luke’s skin, leave a scar. 

But that makes Luke's belly flutter in a strange way, so he’s going to file that thought for later and maybe never think about it again! 

His plan is simple. 

Michael always dresses in long sleeved flannels and sweaters, which is obviously to protect his skin from the sun. In fact, Michael barely shows any skin, ever. So Luke would just have to force it out of him. 

They’re walking across the campus lawn, partly under the shade of the trees lining the path. The sunlight slips through the spaces between the tree branches, pools of gold dancing on the grass as the leaves shift with the breeze. Michael’s talking about the structure of the conclusion for their project, but Luke’s barely listening, because he’s looking at Michael’s exposed hands and wondering if the sunlight makes his skin itch. 

“Michael,” Luke says suddenly, curling into himself and rubbing at his arms like he’s trying to warm himself up. “It’s cold.” 

It’s not cold at all. It’s actually blazing hot, and Luke’s sweat is nearly soaking the back of his shirt. Michael knows this too. He looks around, eyes flitting across the grounds, where multiple groups of students fan themselves as they walk. 

“What?” 

“It’s cold,” Luke repeats, feigning a shiver for effect. 

“Um,” Michael looks confused. “Are you feeling sick?” 

“No,” Luke pouts. He rubs at his skin further. His fingers slip over the sweat at the crease of his elbow. “I’m just—I’m cold.” 

Michael’s stature grows awkward as he walks beside Luke, who exhales harshly like he’s absolutely freezing, visualizing a cloud of his breath before him as though it's winter. 

Luke sighs, and he hopes he doesn’t sound too dramatic. “I wish I had a sweater or something.” 

Michael stiffens.

Luke watches from his peripheral vision, smiling to himself as Michael looks down at his own cream sweater, biting his lip. All according to plan. 

Michael’s hand comes up to rub bashfully at his neck. “I would—” he offers. “Um, I would give you mine but I’m not really…wearing anything under it.” 

Luke has a brief image of Michael taking his sweater off, revealing the smooth, pale skin of his chest. 

His brain flashes an error message. Information processing interrupted. All systems offline. 

“Hng,” Luke’s mouth says. “Uh.” 

Michael catches his disorientation and leans closer, concerned. Luke picks up on a whiff of his cologne and it’s like being slapped in the face. With a bus. 

“Are you good?” Michael asks. 

Not trusting his voice, Luke nods. He can’t get the fucking image of a shirtless Michael out of his head. His face flushes impossibly red. 

“I’ll—uh,” Luke manages, voice cracking embarrassingly. “That’s okay! I wasn’t—wasn’t that cold, anyway.” 

Michael shoots him a puzzled look, brows furrowed. He looks like he’s about to say something, so Luke cuts in and asks something vague about their joint project to get Michael’s attention off of him. Michael starts rambling about urban gentrification and digitization, and Luke mentally logs out of the conversation completely. 

It’s fine. This is just…Michael’s vampire effects. Mind control. Voodoo shit. Obviously. 

—

Alright, so. Luke might’ve embarrassed himself immensely and failed catastrophically at making his point back there, but a wise person once said, ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’

Ashton looks up from his notes. “I didn’t know you read Nietzsche." 

“What?” Luke says. “No, that’s Kelly Clarkson.” 

Ashton shakes his head. “Should’ve seen that coming.” 

Luke drapes himself over the table. They’re sitting in a deserted study hall, only a few students scattered around the room, hunched over their work and murmuring softly to each other.  

Calum’s got his laptop open, but he’s playing that silly dinosaur game on the browser with his internet turned off. His keyboard clicks loudly as he slams his fingers over it. 

“So now what?” Calum asks, eyes still glued to his screen. “Ready to admit your big gay crush?” 

“My what?” Luke tilts his head. 

Calum sighs. “Mate, you’ve been talking about him for the past month.” 

“Well, yeah. It’s an ongoing investigation, Cal. I’m gathering evidence.” 

“You’re gathering a sexuality crisis.”

“What does that even mean?” 

Calum shrugs. Then jerks. “Wait, shut up. I’m gonna beat my high score.” 

He leans impossibly closer to his laptop screen, tongue sticking out in concentration. Luke rolls his eyes. 

“So anyway,” Luke says. “I’ve decided to shift my focus.” Ashton looks up, brows raised in surprise. “Oh?” 

“Yeah,” Luke continues. “So, vampires are supposed to be undead, right—” 

Ashton groans exaggeratedly and thunks his head onto the massive book on the table before him. 

“—so he’ll probably be really cold to the touch. You know?”

Ashton whips up to look at him. Calum’s finger audibly slips on his keyboard. He looks at Luke, eyes wide. They share a panicked look, then lean in furtively towards Luke. 

“Luke,” Ashton says, voice barely above an urgent whisper. “Are you going to fuck the guy?” 

Luke reels. “What? No.” 

Wait, that’s actually—

Wait. No. 

Calum watches the thought process pass through Luke’s head, apparently visible on his face. He grins, eyes sharp. 

“Damn,” he says. “I’m not even mad you interrupted my game. This is gold.” 

Luke folds his arms, frowning. “I’m just going to…like, touch his arm or something.” Ashton huffs a laugh. “Whatever you say, man.” 

“You know what?” Luke says, standing up suddenly. He points at Calum, and at Ashton. “Fuck you, and fuck you too.”

He slings his bag over his shoulder, ignoring the way they’re shooting him looks that say they’re just barely holding back laughter. He storms out of the library in what he hopes looked more like a dramatic exit than a prepubescent tantrum. 

He’ll show them. 

—

Luke does not know how to show them. 

He’s been racking his brain over it. How can he get a solid assessment of the temperature of Michael’s skin without doing something extremely creepy? He can’t just grab his forearm out of the blue, or anything along those lines. He’d freak the guy out. And Michael barely has any other skin exposed anyway. 

It’s late evening as he mulls over this conundrum, the sun just barely above the horizon, casting a soft pink light. The shadows on the pathway stretch far, dancing as the evening breeze shifts. The last of the morning birds chirp mournfully as the day closes. He’s headed back to his dorm, prepared to drop into bed, stick his earphones in, and wrap up the last bits of his semester projects. 

He walks into the dormitory hall, and stops in his tracks. The hall is empty, all the couches and armchairs and tables vacant, save for Luke’s favourite loveseat, tucked comfortably against the back wall. The window overhead lets a touch of orange-gold fall upon the inhabitant of the sofa, who looks up when Luke enters.

“Michael,” Luke smiles, and his breath is suddenly heavy in his lungs because the fading sunlight casts a warm glow over Michael’s shoulders as he reclines back into the seat, laptop resting on his thighs. 

“Hi,” Michael’s lips part upon a smile. He bites his lip, an unfamiliar tension fading from his frame as Luke approaches him. 

Luke takes in the man. He’s clearly busy, working on something that has his brows fixed into  frown, skin underneath his eyes dark with exhaustion. He looks like he’s spent the past two nights awake. 

“Can I…join you?” Luke asks. Then pauses. He’s not sure why he asked that, really. 

But then Michael nods, looks at him like he’s grateful for the company, and then Luke’s slipping his bag off and settling into the space beside Michael. 

The thing is—the couch is small. It’s meant for two people of regular height, and Luke will graciously admit that both him and Michael are much beyond ‘regular height.’ 

And so their knees touch. So their elbows brush with every shift. 

Luke grabs a random book from his bag and opens it, barely processing the words because—well, because his theory backfired again. 

Michael is warm. Luke feels the heat of Michael’s body seep into his bones. His skin is on fire where it meets Michael’s. His cheeks burn, but he’s not sure why. Is this…this can’t be the vampire bit of Michael, can it? 

No, this is. This is just the Michael bit. 

Luke zones out over the pages of his book, losing himself to the comfortable silence. The click of Michael’s laptop keys, the way Michael’s shoulder grazes his own, the way they seem to angle towards each other like gravity. 

The light from the window fades. The warm yellow lights of the hall flicker on, and Michael sighs through his nose at something, and then Luke’s counting Michael’s breaths without stopping to wonder why. 

Luke flips mindlessly through the pages. Michael’s cologne wraps around him, and his eyes flutter at the scent as he tries to burn this moment into memory. Him, Michael—not the vampire, just the person—alone together, alone in silence, like a strange shared understanding, an exchange of consolation and comfort. 

All of a sudden there’s a warm weight against his shoulder. Luke stiffens. He turns in time to see Michael, pressed up against him, leaning his head on Luke’s shoulder as he dozes. 

Oh. 

Michael is so warm. He’s so—

Luke tries to hold still, to breathe as little as possible because he’s afraid to wake Michael. He shuts his book and puts it aside, cheeks flaring a vibrant red as he looks down at his hands, fiddling with his fingers to keep from startling Michael awake as he breathes—slow and deep and relaxed—against him. 

It’s strangely intimate. The room holds still, everything suspended in time, in space, as the world narrows down to just the two of them. Outside, a songbird calls for its mate. Somewhere, a bicycle bell rings. The couch seems to sink under Luke’s and Michael’s weight, trying to swallow them whole. 

Michael’s hands rest on his thighs, his laptop screen dark. His chest rises and falls rhythmically, and Luke’s eyes droop. He tilts his head to rest against Michael’s. His breathing slows, posture relaxing, the world fading into a dream, until—

“Yo, Luke!” 

Luke startles at the voice. Michael jerks awake. He looks around, sitting straighter. Luke suddenly feels cold as Michael draws away from him. Michael meets Luke’s eyes, face growing red immediately as he realizes he’d fallen asleep against him.

Luke looks for the source of the disturbance, finds Calum standing at the hall entryway, looking smug. He looks at Calum’s stupid self-satisfied smirk and tries to explode him with his mind. 

Michael’s already gathering his things. Luke tries to offer him a smile, but Michael’s in a rush and he won’t look at him. 

“Michael, I—” Luke tries, not even knowing what he’d say. 

“I have to…um,” Michael gestures vaguely at the stairwell up to the dorms, gripping his bag and laptop to his chest. “Yeah. See you around.”

“See you around,” Luke replies automatically, but Michael doesn’t stay long enough to hear it. He’s already halfway up the stairs by the time Luke registers he’s gone. 

He looks back at Calum, and if looks could kill.

 Calum holds his hands up. “I didn’t know he was asleep.” 

“Delete my number,” Luke tells him. 

—

It’s astounding how Calum’s still alive and breathing, considering just how many times Luke’s tried to kill him over the past week. 

Calum looks at Luke with the most shit-eating grin every time they pass Michael on campus. Ashton’s been let into The Couch Incident, as Luke’s been calling it, and now he’s also taken to grinning at Luke whenever Michael is around. Luke is seriously considering buying rat poison for his traitorous friends. 

As for how things are with Michael…Luke can’t really put it into perspective for himself. It’s a bit odd—both good and bad. 

Good because Luke and Michael will occasionally catch each others’ eye from across a room, and both of them will blush bright red. Luke seems to almost gravitate towards that spot on the loveseat in their dormitory hall. His heart races each time his phone dings a notification alert, because he keeps expecting to see a message from Michael. 

On the downside, it’s weird because despite all this, Luke’s barely spoken two words to Michael for the past week, because each time he tries, he thinks of The Couch Incident, and how his breath had fluttered in his lungs from Michael’s weight, his warmth. He knows, looking in Michael’s eyes, that he’s thinking of it too, and so their conversations consist of awkward stuttering and clumsy small talk. They’re too flustered to talk about The Incident altogether. Or about what it means. 

Luke’s conflicted. He can’t…be feeling this way around a vampire. He’s falling for Michael’s mind-control tricks, even though he knows it. Some part of him maybe even wants to fall deeper still, and despite all his hesitation, that part is beginning to win out over everything else. 

Calum and Ashton notice, obviously. And that’s how they’re here: on the same picnic table on the campus lawn where it all began. Luke’s eyes flit to that spot under the tree, where he’d seen Michael strumming his guitar. It’s unoccupied this time around, and the emptiness tugs strangely at Luke’s heartstrings. 

“Luke,” Ashton guides Luke’s attention towards him. “Mate, what’s the plan now?” Luke knows he’s referring to Michael. Calum leans on his elbows against the table, and Luke childishly frowns at him. 

“I don’t know,” Luke says. “I haven’t finished my investigation yet.” 

Ashton sighs, but Calum clears his throat, a little awkwardly. 

“So, um,” he says conversationally, tracing the cracks on the wooden table with his fingertip. “Why don’t you just finish it?” 

Ashton opens his mouth to say something, but Calum nudges him, and some kind of understanding seems to dawn in his eyes. 

“You…uh…you got any more vampire tests left to run through?” Ashton prompts. 

Luke looks between them. He thinks of Michael.

Pale, pretty, tall Michael, with the lovely green eyes and the fresh pink lips and the calloused fingertips and the sharp fangs…and maybe Luke does have another test to run through. Something better. Something bigger. 

He steels his resolve and looks between his friends. 

“I’ve got…I’ve got one last card left to play.” 

—

He catches up to Michael after one of the classes they have in common. Michael’s shoulders are tense, even as he turns to meet Luke with a smile. Luke’s brain kind of melts out of his ears. 

“What’s up?” Michael asks.

Just spit it out, Luke tells himself. 

“You should come over to my dorm tonight!” Luke says, and it comes out high-pitched and loud. A small group of girls walking past them pause and look over, giggling. 

Michael’s cheeks take on a soft pink tint. “Uh.” 

“I mean,” Luke flails. God, he should've really thought this through. Rehearsed in front of the mirror or something. “I mean. I was thinking, like, pasta?” 

“Wait, I don’t—” “I can cook! I want to…I want to cook for you.” 

Michael smiles, cheeks flushing further. “Right, but, are you—” 

“If you’re busy, we could just—” “No, Luke, I’m not busy, but—” “Great!” Luke says. “So, like, seven tonight? My dorm?” 

Luke begins walking backwards, away from Michael before he says something stupid, or before Michael can change his mind or something. And he’s looking at Michael’s flushed cheeks, the way his eyebrows furrow in confusion, how he bites his lip, and all of a sudden Luke realizes he forgot to actually ask the pivotal question. 

He stops in his tracks. 

“Oh my god,” he manages, thankfully still in earshot of Michael. “I was asking you out. I forgot to ask you out.” His cheeks flare hot as Michael laughs, and Luke’s eyes snag on his canines. 

“I did this all wrong,” Luke says, blinking fast. “Oh, this is horrifying.” 

Michael draws closer. “I’ll go out with you, Blondie,” he says, grinning. “But you gotta ask me the right way.”

Luke knows he’s just teasing, but butterflies erupt in his stomach nonetheless. 

“Michael,” Luke says, drawing in a breath. “Can I take you out on a date?” 

“To your dorm?” 

“To my dorm.” 

Michael’s eyes are alight with amusement. With something like fondness. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I’d like that.” 

—

When Luke lets Michael into his place that evening, he’s buzzing with anxiety and apprehension. He’s got a little kitchen island, where he serves Michael his best wine, and flits around the kitchen preparing what he hopes is his best pasta recipe to date. 

It’s good. It’s really good, in fact. Luke and Michael fit together like puzzle pieces, like stars orbiting each other. Luke’s heart is in his throat the whole time, because there’s a glowing warmth in his chest and he can’t stop looking at Michael, taking in the way his hands move as he speaks, the way he licks his lips, the way he throws his head back and laughs fully. 

Ultimately, Luke puts a plate of pasta before Michael, and sits opposite him with his own serving. It turned out wonderful, creamy and perfectly supple. Luke’s really proud of himself. 

“It smells amazing,” Michael says. “What’s in it?” 

Luke rests his chin on his knuckles, smiling. “Try it.” 

Michael arches an eyebrow. “I’m putting a lot of trust in you not to poison me,” he jokes. 

“Oh, I would never,” Luke plays along. 

Michael chuckles to himself, picking up a fork. He goes to take a bite, when Luke suddenly sits up straighter. He gathers his resolve, then decides: no better time than now. 

“Wait!” Luke exclaims, and Michael’s fork stops in the space between his plate and his mouth. “Before you eat, I have a few things I want to…um.” 

Michael shifts in his seat, setting the fork down and giving Luke all his attention. Luke wonders if he can tell how Luke’s heart is racing, how his pulse flutters when he meets Michael’s eyes. 

“If…” Luke starts. “If you ever need a helping hand with your…um. Y’know. I won’t tell anyone.” Michael flushes. “Luke, I…” he seems to struggle with his words. Then:  

“Thank you, really, but I’m openly gay.” 

Oh. 

“Oh,” Luke says. “I knew that.” 

He did not know that. 

“I was just saying,” Luke continues. “Like…ifyouwanttobitemeyoucandothat.” 

There’s a stretch of quiet as Michael processes the words. And Luke’s sure now that Michael can hear his heart beating. They stare at each other, and the silence is almost suffocating in its awkwardness, especially because Michael’s gone a little red. 

“What,” he says. 

Fuck.

Luke says, “You can bite me if you want.” 

Michael says, “What.” 

Luke’s tongue suddenly feels really heavy. 

“I just—I was just saying that I can keep your secret!” he goes on, even as his brain is telling his mouth to shut up shut up shut up. “I know you’re a vampire and—like! I respect it! It’s totally cool!” 

Michael is quiet for a moment, his eyes flitting between Luke’s own. 

“Why…” he starts carefully. “Why do you think that?” 

Luke blinks. “Well, the…you’re really pale. And…your teeth—” “My teeth?” 

“ —they’re really sharp! And how…when you came to my dorm the last time, you asked for permission. And…your tumbler, how you said I wouldn’t like what you were drinking…like—blood.” 

Michael makes a face like he’s in pain. Even as Luke speaks, he can hear just how silly he sounds, but his brain isn’t sending the right signals to his mouth because he can’t stop speaking. “And when I wore those…low cut shirts. You…my neck…” Michael’s cheeks flare a vibrant red. 

“Luke,” he says, and his voice is strangely high-pitched. “That day, I was—I was drinking vodka mixed with redbull.” 

Luke gulps. Oh, fuck you, Ashton Irwin. 

“And your shirt…” Michael clears his throat, fingers coming up to fiddle uncomfortably with his earlobe. “Um…you just—you looked really good in it. That’s…that’s why.”

Right. Okay. 

Luke looks down at his plate, blushing so hard his cheeks kind of burn from it. He kind of dies right there on the spot and then revives himself in under two seconds, which is a new record for him. 

Michael sits back a little and looks at Luke through knitted brows. 

“So,” he says. “When you did all that, you weren’t…flirting?” 

“Um, no, I was,” Luke bites his lip. “I was collecting evidence.” 

Michael exhales, and his eyes flash a mixture of confusion and amusement and…something else. Luke can’t breathe. Reality hits him like a truck. Michael isn’t a vampire. Luke just wanted him to be because he couldn’t explain his sudden intrigue in the man. 

“Luke,” Michael says, voice strained as he leans forward and squints into his plate of pasta. “There’s garlic in this, isn’t there?” 

Luke shrinks under the weight of Michael’s gaze, under his words, under the veil of his own stupidity. “Yes,” he manages, voice small. 

Michael huffs a laugh. “Wouldn’t that technically be poisoning me?” 

“Well, are you a vampire?”

He can’t keep the bite out of his voice, but Michael takes it in stride. He stands up and crosses over to sit near Luke, so close that his knees brush Luke’s, and there’s that radiating warmth again. 

Michael leans in close. 

“No,” he says, sly grin parting his pretty lips. “But I can bite if you ask real nice.” 

Luke stills. 

Oh, this is it. I’ve died. I’ve died and gone to hell. 

He flushes all the way down to his toes. “Don’t—don’t make fun of me.” 

“Why would I do that?” 

“Because.”

Luke inhales sharply, turning fully to face Michael. “Because I really, really liked you for months and I looked for you in every room and I waited up for your texts—and I thought it was because you were an evil supernatural bloodsucking soul-eating ghoul.” 

Michael lets the words hang between them. His hand comes to rest on Luke’s knee, warm and grounding. “Well, you’re not wrong about the ghoul part.” 

“Michael.” 

Michael laughs, throwing his head back, bursting at the seams, and it’s such a gorgeous sight that Luke can’t help meeting him where he’s at, mirth spilling from his lips like honey. 

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Luke says. “Can you kiss me now?” 

“Mind the fangs, will you?” Michael mocks. 

Luke rolls his eyes and drags Michael in by the neck, pressing their lips together. Michael smiles against him, leaning in, pulling Luke closer with a hand on his waist. Luke runs his tongue along the line of Michael’s teeth, swallows his melodic gasp, and thinks: 

Thank fucking god for vampires. 

—

Luke 

so Michael is not a vampire 

i just really wanted to kiss him 

Calum 

@ Ashton thats 10 bucks 

Ashton 

Oh

Fuck vampires, mate 

luke’s a good boy. really, he is. that’s why he doesn’t complain much when he spends the night bent over, on bruised knees, locked in a cage until morning. he’s got a shock collar around his neck and it’s got a tag on it that reads ‘bite risk,’ wrists cuffed together behind his back, and his mouth is stuffed full of a pair of underwear with duct tape over his lips and a muzzle attached to his head, covering his mouth. he doesn’t protest his situation. he’s quiet, until he’s taken out.

michael opens the door to the cage and tugs at the leash on the other end of the collar. luke whimpers, legs pained as they stretch out to lift him to his feet. he crawls out best he can and it’s pathetic. he stumbles a few times, until he finally stands. there’s a pleading look in his eyes as michael reaches to remove the muzzle and the duct tape, then the underwear from his mouth. saliva coats them and a string of it connects to his lips. drool drips down his chin and michael wipes it away.

“you did so good for me,” michael says. “didn’t make a sound all night.” luke doesn’t respond. he’s under a speech restriction. he doesn’t speak unless given permission. “you can talk, mutt.”

“what do i get?” luke asks, expectant. michael laughs and it’s dark, almost cruel.

“is that what you think— that you get something out of this every time?” michael queries. luke’s brows furrow together. he looks confused.

“please?” the blond pleads and he’s got that look in his eyes. the one he always gets when he’s desperate. it drives michael up the wall and sends him reeling. he needs more.

“oh, that’s good— start begging,” michael instructs, leash wrapped around his hand now to close the distance between them as he pulls luke closer. he drags him in until their faces are inches apart and luke is only a breath away.

“michael—” luke protests, just this once, because he’s already done the work. he doesn’t see why he should have to do more. michael’s got this charm to him, though. the way he looks at him like he’s something to be devoured sends a shiver up luke’s spine and makes him melt. he’d do anything for him.

“what do you want?” michael asks and luke knows that, once he does, he won’t get a second chance, so he takes a breath— a nervous, shaky one— and answers him.

“i want you to fuck me,” luke exhales. “please, i need it. i miss it, i miss you,” he whines.

michael sucks at his teeth, then places a hand on luke’s cheek and luke leans into his touch.

“isn’t that cute?” michael hums. “you miss me that bad.”

“yes,” luke admits. pouts, even. he’s not above stomping his foot, either. he’ll pitch a fit, if he has to. “i don’t think it’s fair.”

“don’t start getting an attitude with me,” michael warns, then follows the leash to its end, until he reaches the collar. he gives it a tug, then checks it to make sure it’s on well enough so that it won’t be coming off.

“my knees hurt, my back hurts, my throat is still sore from yesterday and the day before, you haven’t fucked me in a week— do i need to keep going?” asks luke, countering michael’s statement with brattiness just to make a point.

michael must not like that because the first thing he does is reach for the remote in his pocket and press a button on it to activate the shock collar luke is wearing. it’s only a minor shock, but luke still tenses.

“behave,” michael demands.

“fuck!” luke curses. he tugs at his wrists from where they’re cuffed together, as if it’ll free them and he’ll be able to take the collar off. to no avail, of course. he’s about to open his mouth to make another ill-mannered comment when he retreats, head lowered. there’s a quiet whimper and he looks to the ground, admitting defeat.

“your throat’s about to be even more sore today,” michael forewarns. he pulls at the leash and drags luke along with him to the bedroom, where he stops once he reaches the bed. he sits on the mattress and leaves luke standing in front of him. “go on, mutt. get on your knees.”

luke doesn’t listen. he doesn’t think michael’s earned a blowjob three days in a row, while he gets nothing, but demands, all week. looks like michael’s gonna have to make him.

“why should i?” luke questions michael, brows furrowed in frustration. he looks so cute when he’s mad, michael will give him that much.

“don’t start,” michael advises. luke doesn’t want to piss him off. “i can put you back in that cage.”

luke must not be too fond of that idea because he’s slowly sliding down to his knees, despite that they’re bruised, and adamantly looking up at michael from between his legs. michael takes the opportunity to lean back and pop the button on his jeans, then unzip his fly. he tugs himself free from his boxers and luke shuffles forward on his knees, mouth falling open as he waits for michael to make use of it.

michael doesn’t wait around. he shoves his cock into luke’s mouth without so much as a second thought. the warm, wet heat of it feels good around him.

“good boy,” he praises luke, then pets the top of his head. luke looks up at him, innocent blue eyes knowing this is the calm before the storm because soon enough michael is grabbing onto the back of luke’s head and forcing him down on his cock. he doesn’t stop. not until luke is gagging and choking. even then, luke gets lucky if michael lets up for even a second. he presses forward, until he’s buried inside of luke’s throat and luke’s face is turning red from the lack of oxygen. his throat is already bruised and sore and this is just making it worse. so much for the healing process. “c’mon, you can take it,” michael assures him, patting luke’s cheek. he pulls out to slap his cock against luke’s face, then forces it back into his mouth. this time, he thrusts in and out. he fucks luke’s mouth and uses it, until he’s sure luke is going to pass out. he can’t help himself. he just gets so eager. not to mention, luke is so willing. he always takes it so well. he never tries to push michael off or make him stop. of course, it probably helps that he’s handcuffed right now.

michael pulls at luke’s hair for extra leverage, by the way. it gets a garbled groan out of luke. he’d moan, but the cock in his mouth would just muffle it all. besides, it’s a little hard to do with how intensely michael is using his throat right now.

by the time michael stops, luke is gasping for air. there’s spit coating his lips and drool dripping down his chin. he coughs a few times, then tries to catch his breath. he’s red in the face, embarrassed to let michael use him so freely. the blush spreads to his ears and down to his chest and he just prays michael doesn’t notice to tease him because he can practically feel the heat radiating off of his face right now.

“you didn’t finish,” luke struggles to get out, voice raw and hoarse.

“got other plans, mutt,” michael says and it comes out of his mouth like a promise. he winks, then pulls luke to his feet and stands from the bed at the same time, but only so he can bend luke over the mattress and get behind him. he kicks luke’s legs apart with his foot and wedges his knee between his thighs so he can’t close his legs. “looks like it’s your lucky day. i’m gonna fuck you after all. you just gotta be a good boy and take it.”

luke bites his lip in anticipation. he buries his face in the blankets that are all piled up on the bed. he doesn’t know why he feels the need to shy away. not that he can. michael is so domineering when he gets like this that he won’t allow it.

“i’ll be good,” luke assures him, after he’s turned his head so he can talk freely without his words becoming muffled.

“i know you will,” michael chuckles. he doesn’t waste anymore time, either. he gets himself lined up with luke’s entrance, head pressed to luke’s tight rim, then pushes into him. the tip shoves past that first ring and luke squirms. he didn’t get any preparation and the most they’re using is spit, so it burns. the stretch hurts. it aches even worse when michael’s fully buried inside of him, but there’s something about the pain that makes luke dizzy. he’s dazed by it, seeing stars, and all around blissed out by that initial first few minutes of agony. michael knows he likes when it hurts, so he doesn’t bother being gentle. he pulls out, until only the tip is left inside, then thrusts right back in. he sets a steady rhythm and fucks him hard and fast right away. luke squeezes his eyes shut and he screams. he’d cover his mouth, but all he can do is pull at the cuffs around his wrists and hope they give way because— honestly— he’d like the opportunity to hide himself. fists clench tight and his shouts turn into hopeless whimpers. he’s desperately pleading, begging for michael to keep going.

“don’t stop— please— needed this so bad,” luke pants, words coming out hot and heavy. he’s breathless already.

“fuck,” michael groans, long and drawn out. “struggling already, mutt?” he says in reference to luke falling apart beneath him. michael doesn’t let up, despite this. he keeps going. really gives it to him. fucks him harder, deeper, rougher— anything he can. “just take it. i know you can take it.”

“hurts so fucking good,” luke moans; loud, shameless, and sinful. it is borderline fucking unholy the way it falls off of his lips; wicked enough to leave churches in shambles. michael’s touch corrupts him and he lets it. he’s desperate and depraved, eventually finding the strength somewhere to rock his hips back into michael’s thrusts so that he can fuck himself on his cock. they move in sync and there’s a cadence to it, well needed friction finding luke’s prostate with every other movement.

michael holds onto luke’s wrists. he knows luke can’t move his arms, even if he wanted to, but there’s something enticing about leveraging him to force him back with his grip.

“takin’ it so fuckin’ good for me, mutt,” michael rewards luke with praise. “you think you can handle goin’ a little harder?” he asks, but doesn’t give luke the chance to respond before he’s letting go of his arms and dragging him back by the hips. he holds them in place while he pounds into him, ramming into his prostate on purpose now. he’s consistent about it, too. he fucks him good, until luke is a sputtering mess of incoherent words and phrases.

“please— fuck— oh, god—” luke barely gets out. it’s all he can manage. he can’t think properly. there’s this building pressure in his stomach and it’s rising. he’s seeing white before he knows it, spilling anywhere and everywhere. thick, white cum leaks from his cock and he makes a mess on the bedsheets, shouting michael’s name over and over.

now that luke’s finished, michael doesn’t hold back. he holds him down and fucks him how he wants, focused only on himself. he chases after his own orgasm and luke’s thighs are trembling, entire frame shaking, while he gets used like some cheap toy and nothing more. he’s drooling again, head hanging in shame and a string of exceedingly loud moans tumble out of his mouth.

a few minutes later michael is following right behind luke. he’s filling him up, dropping a heavy load inside of him, and burying it nice and deep. he waits a minute before pulling out slowly, then pats luke’s ass and spreads him open to admire his handywork.

“don’t look—” luke squirms and tries to get away from michael’s prying hands. he’s feeling bashful, but michael holds him in place.

“let me see,” michael demands, then spanks luke hard. luke admits defeat with a yelp and goes limp, then michael opens him up. he looks at luke’s hole, observing the slight stretch and watching as his cum leaks out of it. his thumb spreads the rim apart and he chuckles darkly. “you look cute all stretched out, with my cum leaking out of you.”

“shut up, asshole,” luke huffs.

michael lets out a ‘tsk’ and spanks luke’s ass again, harder this time. he’s just manhandling him at this point, but it’s called for since luke wants to act like a brat.

the cuffs come off, finally, and michael brings luke’s wrists to his face to kiss the bruises forming around them. the collar is removed next.

“lucky you’re cute, mutt,” michael tells luke. “c’mon, we’re gonna go shower, then i’m making you food.”

“i don’t have to get back in the cage?” luke asks, sounding sincerely surprised.

“no,” michael laughs, then tugs luke closer to kiss the top of his head. “my puppy.”